Heath's Determination
by ScribeofHeroes
Summary: He'd always wondered why he wandered. Now he had a place to claim along with a name no matter what it took!
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own any of the characters mentioned or shown in "Big Valley." I'm not sure who does, but I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks here with no pay, just out of love for their show. **

Lost … lost and alone. He'd been searching for a long time. Now he searched the stars. Those bright lights had been his only light, once a month, if he wasn't in town. He often spent the night outside of town, outside a building, outside a tent. Sometimes, he'd find a place, settle down, try to find out how to still that restlessness inside, but somehow …

He sat down hard in the dirt. Then he let the breath out of his lungs. He stirred a bit of the loose dust lying on the crust of it hardening his pants. Then he mused some more.

He'd found places, lots of places he could earn a dollar and even some respect. So why did he always feel like he had to move on within several months at least? No place was the same as any other, yet that was the same wherever he went.

What about Strawberry? He wished he could say he was sorry it had died the death of many towns. It was a sorry, sorry thing when a town died like that. It should be at least, especially to him.

He'd been born there, grew up there, worked there, still had family there … And yet, he'd been glad to leave it. At least everywhere else, no one had to know his secret. He was struggling with the knowledge himself even more now. Somehow, it hurt even worse this way.

He'd always thought his father was just some saddle-tramp. Just some good-for-nothing who'd cozied up to his too young and too kind and too beautiful mother. Somehow, he'd promised her the world and then … just … left.

This vision of the man had made his father seem too much like him. He'd heard enough times he'd end up just like him. It was why he'd never taken what he'd "really" wanted at times from any girl no matter how nice, how willing, or how beautiful she was. Some had asked him if his way of avoiding doing so was due to religion, nerves, or something else. He was really proving to himself, every time he walked away, he wasn't like the man who'd done that to his mama.

Despite his continual moving from town to town, state to state, and job to job, he was nothing like the no-good man who'd moved on himself after putting a baby in his mother that babe who was him. And they'd all said he'd end up just like him. Ha!

Heath laughed quietly, bitterly, to himself. If he should be so lucky. That man had not just had a home. He'd had a mansion! That man had not just had land. He'd had a ranch most other ranch-owners only dreamed of. That man had not just had a hometown. A whole valley claimed him. That man had had a family, two more sons, a daughter, and a wife … a wife! And the article had said she'd loved him, grieved him.

Heath's hands went to the sides of his head and gripped hard. Had she grieved her husband as much as his mother had? Why had either mourned a man who'd done that to them both?

His father hadn't been a drifter. He hadn't had to slave away at bottom beneath other men, proving himself again and again. He hadn't felt restless! That much had breathed off the page to Heath every time he'd read the article. Tom Barkley had had a home, a ranch, workers, a family, a town! He'd had everything!

The only permanent things Heath had ever felt he had were his mother, his aunt, and Hannah. They'd had to slave for him. He'd tried to slave for them in return. What about this woman, "Mrs." Barkley? What about this daughter? What did they do all day? What had "Tom Barkley" given to them all those years, and to his sons, his "claimed" sons?

Heath grit his teeth. Tom Barkley had had everything up to his death and given everything to his wife, and children, and neighbors in turn, but not to his mother, not to him. No more.

If he had to drag that man's reputation through the dirt and muck, he would. His mother wasn't here to be hurt by it no more! He wasn't going to play drifter anymore! No. He'd go to one more place, and there he'd stay if they had to bury him in its dust. He was going to claim his piece of Barkley ranch or die on it.

**Well, what do you think? :)**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned or shown in "Big Valley." I'm not sure who does, but I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks with no financial compensation for doing so, just out of love for the show. :)**

He woke at dawn. The sky promised it would be a fine day. Hot maybe. He couldn't see a sign of a cloud. The air was still and stifling.

He broke camp. Then he saddled and loaded up his horse. Heath only traveled with all a man needed: full-enough saddle-bags, a bedroll, and a rifle. His Modoc pony was ready to fly at a moment's notice. He pointed the horse's nose toward the mountains. He'd like to be in the cool of their shadows long before noon.

. . .

Near noon, hours after crossing into those same mountains, his pony heard the river. The beast's gait picked up. Heath's own body tightened at the sight of white froth floating atop rushing water. His eyes narrowed, and not just because the sunlight bounced off the river's surface at them. On the other side of that water lay his destiny. Ridicule, inheritance, fists, bullets any of those might come his way over there.

He road alongside the river for a time looking for "still waters" to let his horse drink from and cross through. He found better, a bridge. He let his mount drink as much as was good for it, then pointed the pony in the direction of the structure of dark wood. Another man coming from the opposite direction had the same idea.

Heath's horse stepped onto the bridge. So, did the other man's. Heath's mount passed between a pair of trellises. The other man's did the same. When the noses of the horses were less than a horse-length apart on the part of the bridge that sagged between pairs of trellises, the mounts stopped.

Heath tried to size up the horse and man in front of him. The other rider seemed to do the same. He spoke first. Heath always let the other person speak first if he wasn't looking for a job and sometimes when he was. If you were quiet long enough, you usually found out what was on the other person's mind, and they didn't have to find out what was on yours.

He gave back the man's greeting. Then the stranger complimented his horse. Heath agreed with the compliment. The man guessed right about where he got the horse. Heath filled in a little more detail. He was proud of his Indian pony.

The stranger paid another worthy compliment to his mount. He did know a thing or two about horse-flesh, Heath gave him that, within his own mind at least. There was one thing he was not going to give this man though, and he let him know it. Politely, but firmly, showing it wasn't "truly" his, or the other man's, or anybody else's fault, but was just the way things were, he explained his Modoc could only move forward over this bridge.

The stranger was clever. He played Heath's own card against him. Heath could learn to respect this man. If they both lived through this.

Heath did what often served him well during lulls in conversation. He commented on the weather. His words had a hidden meaning this time. If this man and his horse were as hot as he and his, the stranger and his sweaty, Modoc pony could go for a little swim courtesy of him. Heath and his own would do the same if it wouldn't have meant admitting defeat.

Heath didn't have much to lose, just his horse and what was on him, including himself. Two women back in Strawberry might cry over him as they had his mama. He couldn't go back to them, though, and tell both he'd been too scared to act on the information his mama gave him on her deathbed. If he couldn't face down one stranger on a bridge, how'd he face those who'd try to deny him his inheritance?

The man complimented his gun. Again, Heath filled in the little part the stranger had missed about it. The man showed off his own weapon. Heath pushed for a little more information on it. The man gave it and then some. Heath didn't believe him. Maybe the other man didn't believe him either. They'd both have to prove what they'd said.

They were in the process of doing just that, when the bridge broke out from under them. They both got that refreshing ride after all. They also both ended up on the opposite side of the river they'd started on.

As Heath's mount climbed up the riverbank, he watched its hooves, making sure they found steady ground. Then he glanced over his shoulder. The other man was doing the same thing. He gave Heath a slight smile. Heath gave him back the same. Then he turned and headed toward his destiny again.

Heath smiled to himself a few times as the river-water evaporated off his shirt and mount's sides. Who knew? Depending on how the stranger on his Modoc felt about the Barkleys, and how sore he was over his swim, maybe he'd just made a friend.

**Tell me what you thought. :)**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned or shown in "Big Valley." I'm not sure who does, but I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks with no financial compensation just out of love for their show. :)**

By the time Heath had ridden a few more miles, his good mood had worn off. His mother was dead. The father who'd abandoned her had lived wealthy and respected for years while she'd been poor and reviled. Then the man had died, before he, their son, could give him a piece of his mind, and maybe his fist.

He was about to confront family he hadn't known he'd had to demand an inheritance he hadn't known was his until a month ago. He might end up dead for his trouble. He wondered if the man on the bridge might take care of his Modoc.

A sound wafted through the still air. He glanced down into this big, big valley he'd entered. It was a pretty sight.

A train snaked its way through some trees. An idea flashed through Heath's mind. A long time ago he'd done something stupid, at least his mama would have said it was stupid.

Some rich man had declared the iron horse was superior in every way to any of the flesh. Heath had said it wasn't. The man had told him to prove it. He had.

An emotion, a rush, a forgetting of everything else had happened to him then. He'd only had that experience a few times since. Suddenly, he longed for that feeling again. After the memory, dark thoughts surfaced in his mind, which had been popping up a lot lately.

_My mama's dead. My pa left her like she was dirt, and everyone here thinks he's a hero. They'll never believe me unless I make them. I'll have to fight them every step of the way to prove it. What if I fail?_

Anger engulfed him. He had to pour it out or leave it behind, somehow, now. He had to think clearly before he confronted all those folks he'd have to face to claim what was his. Mostly, though, he wanted to forget. For a moment, just a moment, he wanted to forget.

He touched his spurs against the sides of his Modoc. Then he guided the Indian pony toward the train. He brought his mount up alongside the tracks. Those whirring wheels were right alongside them now.

He could feel the air finally moving around him, like the river had. Now he was cool again, but he could feel the Modoc beneath him warming up.

_C'mon, friend! Show them what a Modoc can do! _

He remembered again the last time he'd done this. That train might have been a little slower, but he hadn't been riding a Modoc then. He'd been thinking the same sorts of things at that horse, though.

_Show them how a horse of flesh can run! Show them what you can do! Show them what a nameless boy and a horse of flesh can do!_

Now he knew his rightful name. Barkley. He was a Barkley. What was a Barkley? He shook his head, bent further over his mount's neck, and squinted at the horizon.

_Don't think about that now. Think about the horse beneath you. Think about the goal ahead. C'mon Modoc! Show them! Show them all!  
_

They passed the train's last car. Then they passed the next. He and his Modoc, Man and Horse, were slowly gaining on this train. Was there anything sweeter than this?

His mama's face came to mind. Heath's jaw clenched. He set his mind on the task ahead.

_C'mon Modoc. C'mon! Show them! Show them all! _

The wind stung his eyes. That was why they were wet. They were passing the third car back now. As Heath drew nearer to the train itself, he heard cheers.

He glanced to the side. Men, mostly rich men, waved hats at him and his Modoc through the glass of their windows. Their hooting and hollering came through the cracks underneath.

He and his Modoc had passed half the train. Only the last few train-cars and the engine were ahead of them. They were really flying.

Even if they got squished, he'd be one proud Modoc-owner. He glanced to the side once more. Two spectators stood at the railing of the last train-car he'd pass. Both looked richly dressed with slicked-back hair. They stared at him and his Modoc.

Heat grinned to himself. Let the rich men drool. This horse and race were his.

Heath passed the last passenger car. He passed the coal-car. The sign marking where a dusty road crossed the train track was dead ahead. The conductor pulled a cord. The train whistled. He heard it, but paid little heed.

They pulled ahead of the engine. The Modoc sprang onto the dirt track. He turned his horse toward the rails. They cut across them. For a moment, the train rushed right at them. Then they were both on the other side.

They sped away from the tracks. A bust of air hit his Modoc's rump and Heath's back. He grinned.

The feeling remained in his heart and in his soul. A grim satisfaction followed more than what the bridge altercation had left him with. He could win.

He could prove himself to others. Heath frowned. How much longer though would he feel this way? How much would he have to prove to his family of strangers? How would he do it?

Now they were slowing down, but his Modoc still had to cool off. He patted the Indian pony's neck. Whatever happened, anyone who wanted this horse would have to pull the reins from his cold, dead hands. At least neither of them had been squished under the wheels of an iron horse.

Heath grinned and spoke to his mount with more candor than he would to many a man. "I wouldn't trade you for a train engine any day of the week." His Modoc tossed its head proudly, and Heath chuckled.

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned or shown in "Big Valley." I'm not sure who does, but I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks with no financial compensation just out of love for their show. :)**

Heath got lost. He couldn't believe it, but he did, on his father's ranch. He'd never seen so many trees on a ranch of all places and it "was" a huge spread. Other than it ruining their pa's reputation, he couldn't understand why his half-siblings would mind giving him a piece. Then he ran across something he didn't expect.

A white fence, standing only tall enough to keep rabbits out if they didn't hop over or dig under it, encircled a rectangular plot of land. A gray, flat stone stood tall to one side of it. Ornamental edges like stair-steps going up to heaven graced this marker's top. Flowers grew over the fence and up the stone's sides. He didn't think he'd ever seen a prettier grave, and out here in the middle of nowhere. He wondered.

Heath rode toward it, dismounted, and strode up to the small fence. He knelt down right against it, leaning over and into the flower-vines. He read the stone. Up top it read, "Thomas Barkley." Underneath it read "1813-1870." Fifty-seven years of life that had ended more than a few years ago. He had missed his opportunity by so much. Heath frowned.

A sting cut through his shoulder. He'd felt the like before, a crop-whip. Who was ..?

He turned while looking up. Heath shielded his face with his arms. So, they took the next several blows. He peered through the space between them expecting to see a man with grey-hair and a grouchy, wrinkled face defending his friend's resting place from a … young stranger with only his mother's last name. The sight beyond Heath's raised, defending arms was far more pleasing to him.

A smooth, baby-cheeked face, so out of line with what she was doing it seemed ludicrous, stared coldly back at him. Waves of golden hair surrounded it. His attacker was dressed in clothes the patterns of which would look right on a working-man, but that also hugged her curves graciously. This angelic-looking creature was trying to whip the tar out of him! Well, if it had to be someone … Nonetheless, his skin warned him to stop her.

Heath reached up, grabbed his attacker, and dragged her off her horse. They rolled in the dirt for a while. She kept a stern grip on her whip. That was alright. He didn't need to take it away. He just needed to pin down the wrist below it. He'd better hold down her other arm too. A lady like this might have a hard left-fist.

Heath pinned the spitfire. He made sure to keep well above her, not just for propriety's sake, but in case she bit, or kneed men where it really made an impression once made this mad. Nonetheless, he grinned down when he'd made sure she couldn't do these things. His voice sounded smug to his own ears. "Hello, lover."

It dawned on him, despite the furious look she gave him, he was finally home. He wasn't going anywhere after this. Once he'd figured out why she was so mad, and apologized, and made it up to her, and made himself rich, he could afford to settle down with someone.

_Oh please, God, don't let her have a ring on underneath this left glove here. Though, if it's only an engagement ring I could still have a chance to fight for her. _

He would indeed. At the moment, her pretty features only formed a snarl at him, though. She replied in a tight, firm, authoritative voice. "Get off of me."

He just grinned back. She didn't seem a bit scared, so, he didn't feel a bit bad, yet. Considering the circumstances, things seemed very funny to him right now. "Can't oblige ya, you blonde-haired, blue-eyed …"

She cut in, "I'll brain you! I'll cream you …"

There was that temper again. He liked it. This was better than the train. Thank goodness he'd never met her anywhere else, anywhere he'd want to move on from. Nonetheless, he'd have to survive this altercation, and she had to know he wasn't going to let her have her way to stop him from doing so.

She bucked, trying to break free and carry through on her threats. He gripped tight and pressed down. She slumped back down in the dust and … pouted at him.

She poofed out her lips. Her eyes watered. A whine rather than growl or shout slipped from her lips. "You're hurting."

Heath almost shook his head as he kept smiling down into her pretty face. _Huh-huh … You're not going to get by with that after what I just saw and felt from you._

He put the bite of authority into his voice she'd just lost from her own. "Drop it."

She stared coldly up at him again, but did so. He took the riding crop and threw it farther than a lunge away from either of them behind the grave. The sight of it almost ruined his good mood. "Then" he looked back and let the lady up.

He sat up himself, but leaned over to draw in a few, deep breaths. She sat up straight not seeming tired at all. Of course, feisty as she was, she likely hadn't had the same day he had. Either way, she still had plenty of breath. "I planted those flowers."

Heath barely sucked in enough air to utter a one word reply. "So?"

He couldn't say he cared very much right now. He hadn't liked the man. Hadn't respected the man. Hadn't known the man. What was she a member of some grave-beautification organization with a bunch of other church-ladies? She didn't speak like one.

"So, you were tramping on them! I saw you!" She gave him another pout and then asked in a hard voice, "Who are you?"

He glanced over at her. "I was about to ask you the same thing." In fact, he "really" wanted to know.

A queenly look and posture washed over her as she stood up and began to walk away. A prim note entered her voice. "I don't have to tell you that."

As the amount of not so cool air between their bodies increased, Heath still cooled off some. His deep breathes had likely helped. His manners came back to him.

He looked away from her pretty frame and figure before agreeing. "No ma'am, I guess you don't." He'd have to earn it, but boy, did he want to earn it. First thing he'd do after building a house on some far off corner of Barkley land, was come calling on her to start the process of convincing her to fill it.

She turned back to him, after picking up her riding crop, and for some reason, obliged him right away. She still had that queenly air and cold tone as she did so, though. "Audra Barkley."

He stared up at her. The joy began to seep out of him. She stood over him tall, remote, even now growing further away. _Oh no. Please, just let her be some obscure cousin … thrice removed._

"Then he was your ..?"

She looked proudly down at him and spoke in a even prouder tone. "He was my father."

Heath slumped and turned his gaze down to the ground. "Then I am sorry."

His sister. She was his half-sister. Why was he surprised? God must really have it out for him. It had already been quite a day. How would it manage to get worse from here? He was afraid to ask.

Heath got up, turned, took a few steps past her, and bent over to pick up his hat. He'd best get back on his horse and ride away, from the disappointment, from the heart-ache, from yet another thing snatched from him because of the circumstances of his birth, or rather, what had happened nine-months prior. Why did life hand out harsh things based on what you couldn't help?

"Audra Barkley" asked questions of his back now that he no longer wanted to talk. "What are you doing here anyway? Who are you? I've never seen you around."

He turned back toward her, trying to be polite. After all, he "had" hurt her. In more ways than one. And she didn't deserve that either. Neither did she deserve what was coming with him. "I was on my way to your place, looking for work. I got fouled up in the woods, there, and ran across this grave. It's not a likely place for a grave." He "had" been surprised. Somehow, he'd pictured a church-yard, a nearby steeple making everything seem holy-like.

She kept her stance proud, but bowed her head a little as she looked down at the plot. He imagined, like him, she was taking in the flowers, fence, and gravestone with her and her father's name on it, his too, though she didn't know that yet. Her tone lowered and softened a little. "He died here. This is where they shot him." She looked back up at Heath. An expression of rapture, awe, and pride, such pride, lit her face up. "A thousand people came from the valley to bury him. He was that kind of man."

"I know."

A snap and harshness entered her tone, "What do you mean, you know?"

Words jumped from Heath's lips. "I mean, I know what it's like to be without your father."

It wasn't a lie. Part of not having a father, had taught him three things about what to do when you heard that tone in someone's voice. 1. Answer quickly. 2. Make it respectful. 3. Answer with the truth, or they'll say a lie is what they expected from a boy whose father was alive, but mother remained unmarried.

His ingrained instincts had served him well here. He "did" know when you had no living, breathing, present father to protect you, you needed pride, to harden you, to keep you looking other people in the eye, to dare them to hurt you, to fight for yourself. Audra Barkley was … "like family."

Wow. For the first time … he wanted more family, a piece of this family, not just this land. He wanted to be close to Audra Barkley not as he'd dreamed, if only briefly, but just to be with someone who understood.

Then the thought crept back into him, _No. She never would understand._ There was a similarity between them, yes, but not like that.

He was here to ruin her life. That wasn't fair, but … Life wasn't fair.

During his silence, she gave him directions. He took them in, barely, enough to follow them. Then he turned from her, walked up to his Modoc, swung up easily and quickly into the saddle, and turned his face in the right direction.

He heard her call to him. His head snapped around to look at her. A fear shot through him, which didn't make much sense really, that he'd been caught, that she'd read his mind. Instead a calm, almost soft look was all over her face and stance. It was in her voice too. "See my brother Nick, he does the hiring."

Heath gave her a word of thanks and a nod. Then he turned his Modoc and rode at a fast clip wanting to get away from her whose life he was just about to tear apart unfairly. He didn't know she stepped away from their father's grave and in the direction he'd gone, looking after him with thoughts in her mind about him like he'd just briefly had about her.

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	5. Chapter 5

**I own none of the characters or places from "Big Valley." I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks from their show with no pay. **

**Please read and enjoy! :D**

As he rode up to the house, three men stepped out onto the veranda to meet him. He recognized one of them. As he pulled his Modoc up, he smiled at the man from the bridge, "Small world ain't it?"

The other man's voice was chipper and didn't match the tightness in his face and form. "Something for you?"

So, the man from the bridge hadn't forgotten their meeting, wasn't simply laughing off their joint fall into the river, and had, at the least, visiting privileges with the Barkleys. Heath's luck was holding steady. Nonetheless, he gave a sharp nod and answered as if the man's offer was genuine. "Mr. Barkley, if you know where I can find him." He'd get away from this man soon as he could, but he'd have to watch his back if he lived nearby.

The man from the bridge smirked and bounced on his heels as he replied, "Take your choice."

Heath glanced over the other two strangers. One stood behind the other two staring at him with a serious silence. His face was fresh, soft. Without his tan, he'd look like a greenhorn.

The other man leaned on a column while giving him a wide grin. Heath narrowed his eyes at him. Why did he look "happy" to see him? He shouldn't know him, but … he did look familiar. What did he know? Heath was counting on "no one" knowing him here. If he knew him from a visit to "Strawberry" it could blow the whole plan before it got started.

Heath studied the smirking man further. His rich suit made him look wordly. An underlined weight in his blue eyes and charming smile made him look wary.

The man from the river was his half-brother, along with these other two. He had a vengeful, side-arm packing modoc-rider, a fresh-faced boy with a stare far too serious for one who'd seen so little, and a suit-wearing money-counter for his set of half-brothers. And he'd eventually have to fight all of them for what was his. He also needed one to hire him if was going to scout out the terrain before planning his war.

Heath didn't think the fresh-faced boy could be Nick. He seemed too young and innocent to be a good judge of men. The one in the suit seemed capable of judging men's character, but also seemed more suited to counting money than cattle. Heath sure hoped he was Nick though, because that left … "Well, I was told Nick does the hiring."

The man from the bridge shot back, "Of what?"

Heath hid his thoughts and answered coolly, "Oh line-boss, hay waddy, hasher, cow-prod, jingler. You name it, I done it." They might find any number of reasons not to hire him, but lack of experience wasn't one.

The man in the suit spoke up asking the one question other than "Who's your pa" he didn't want to answer, "What's your name?"

He looked at his half-brother, the Barkley in the fine suit, and spoke slowly and so his first name became two syllables instead of one, "He-ath."

The man didn't pry as he feared, quite the opposite in fact. "I was on that train this afternoon. Quite a race."

_Oh … _Pride filled Heath's heart, but he quashed it. You impressed men more when you didn't brag. And he couldn't afford to show weakness. "No contest, not the way those cabbage stacks come off the turn."

Nick, from the bridge, broke in again, "Where're you from?"

He couldn't afford to answer "that" in detail either. He gave his challenger a hard stare. "West of the divide."

The other man dug. "How west?"

Heath raised his head in defiance. He wasn't about to give him more, not now. "Pretty much all over."

Nick gave him back a cocky, smug grin Heath was learning to recognize. He held back one of his own as he saw Nick's was warier and less confident than it had been on the bridge. Neither of them had had the chance to show all their cards then, so neither really knew yet who would have won. Still, he'd made an impression. That was dangerous, but it would be more dangerous to show fear now, as well as unacceptable to give up. Nick threw out another question for him. "Last place you worked?"

Heath didn't like his answer. He pursed his lips before giving it. "Corning." Yep a fair pace away. Odd for him to come here from there without working along the way, but … he didn't dare lie.

The Barkley in the suit, from the train, broke in. "Sign him on, Nick."

Nick turned to the one in the suit and raised his voice. So, the Barkley in the suit held the reins, tight enough to give orders, but not tight enough to make "Nick" cower, or fear giving him his opinion. Heath wondered what "could" cause Nick to do either. He spoke now with a brusqueness that showed bad temper and sincerity. "To what? We're full!"

Heath raised his eyebrows, must be a lack of work to do around here, which seemed unlikely, or an overflow of men looking to work in the area, which was a little more likely.

The man in the suit replied in a calm, cool voice. He might almost learn to like him. "Well he did me a little favor this afternoon."

_He must have bet on the race. I wonder how much money I made him. I wonder if he'll think it worth it later._

The man in the suit winked at Nick, before turning slightly and giving Heath a welcoming smile before turning all the way around and walking back into the house.

Nick gave a tight smile and an even tighter voice of welcome, sorta. "Ah, take your gear over to the bunkhouse. See McNalley, tell him to sign you on."

**Reviews are much appreciated. :)**

**God bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own any of the characters mentioned or shown in "Big Valley." I'm not sure who does, but I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks here with no pay, just out of love for their show. **

_Nick gave a tight smile and an even tighter voice of welcome, sorta. "Ah, take your gear over to the bunkhouse. See McNalley, tell him to sign you on."_

Heath nodded, tipped his hat to Nick Barkley, and rode off to do just that. This part was routine. Sorta. What wasn't was hearing the others in the bunkhouse, McNalley and his fellow cow-hands, talking about their bosses, the cattle, the land, the upcoming battle with the railroad, the last time those battles had been fought, the death of their former employer and his knowing they were talking about his father, his father's cattle, his father's land, and all he'd left to his wife and children. The others seemed to be in awe of Thomas Barkley. They argued about his sons, though.

Jarred was too soft. He'd never fight. He'd spent his time trying to talk or write his way out of this war. Would it help? Naw. Things had gone too far for that.

Nick, though, Nick would fight. They would fight alongside him. Well, most would anyway.

Some said they'd no part in this fight and would ride off at the first sign of trouble. These were scorned by the others. The latter said they'd stick it out with the Barkleys even if they died beside them. They seemed to love Nick, Mrs. Barkley, and Audra. They hoped the others would find a way to keep the Barkley baby sister out of things. They wondered if the loss of a child would kill Mrs. Victoria Barkley. Most said "no." She was too tough for that. They were more afraid she'd die from a bullet.

Eugene seemed lesser known around here, particularly to the younger hands. These asked the older ones if he would fight. The older ones didn't seem confident either way. Being always at those fancy schools, Eugene must be a thinker like Jarrod. Therefore, he wouldn't fight like Nick. Some older hands, though, said they'd seen a fighter in Eugene in his younger years. Other said his stubborn chin, narrow eyes, and sudden temper told clear as day he was still a fighter now.

Heath went to bed mind whirling. He stared into the darkness despite having had himself a day. Two things fought inside him like dogs over fresh garbage. The anger he'd ridden in with, and the almost-admiration he'd felt since for Audra, the man in the suit, and even "Nick."

Audra, the innocent lady with the sharp riding crop, who'd planted flowers on her … _their_ … father's grave. Well, she wouldn't plant them on _his _mother's. That thought caused his anger to build up again.

The man in the suit had looked up at and given him a grin of admiration for his race with the train. Eventually though, he'd turn on him. As soon as he told him his story, the man in the suit would admire him no more.

The fresh-faced boy? Worse. He'd claim he was a liar when he himself didn't know a thing.

And Nick?

Heath sensed something. He turned his head. Then he opened his mouth. It was covered. The hand that held Modoc's reins and English-made sidearms smothered his shout. Heath looked into hazel eyes burning with anger. What had he done to pull that emotion from this man … already?

The man growled, "Get dressed." Heath sat up, but otherwise didn't move. When he saw this, Nick picked up Heath's shirt. Then he tossed it at his chest.

Just to make sure Nick knew it was his choice, Heath let his eyes lazily slide away from the other man's face to his shirt and just as lazily picked it off himself. So … Nick wanted a fight, but he wouldn't fight a man, undressed. Since the man had such honor, he'd oblige him. Scare a man in the middle of the night who had just wanted to cross a bridge like he had as much right to it as any man, and afterward asked him for a job? What did he expect, because he wanted a job, he'd act like an inferior? Some might let _Nick Barkley_ get away with that. Now his mama was dead, though, Heath wasn't that desperate.

No one was going to tell him what to do. As for getting dressed in the middle of the night like Nick demanded, he was curious now. That was all. At this point, staying undressed would be the coward's way out.

. . .

Before Heath had begun to button up his shirt, Nick got behind him and prodded him out of the bunkhouse and over to the stables. Heath obliged him. Only when they walked into the stables, did Nick raise his voice, "Alright, let's hear it." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Heath.

Heath let a favorite sarcastic remark come to his lips. "Well, why don't you tell me the tune and I'll try to humm a few bars."

"Corning."

"Nice town."

"That's the last place you worked?"

"That's right." Heath began turning up his shirt sleeves in readiness.

Nick fired back, "That's a hundred miles from here."

"So?"

"You usually travel hundreds of miles between jobs with a hundred likely spreads on the way."

_There's only one Barkley Ranch apparently. _Heath didn't look up or at Nick. He _had_ expected something would come from his telling the truth. Maybe he shoulda lied this time. He knew he didn't have an answer he planned to give, yet. It was suspicious, sure, but why did this man harp on it so? Why drag him outa bed for it? If he had such a problem, he shoulda just spoken to their brother in the suit about firing him.

Heath firmly believed right then he'd rather be fired in the morning than woken up in the middle of the night and frog-marched into these stables. Not that he'd been asleep, but still. If Nick didn't have the guts to talk to his own brother about firing him and pulled this stunt instead, Heath didn't have to take this from him.

While Heath thought through all this, Nick apparently got impatient. He stared straight at Heath's lowered profile and lowered his voice. "I asked you a question, boy."

Heath first went hot, then cold. He looked up and decided one thing. He was not going to take this, not when he had a portion of this very spread coming to him. Heath walked right by the man from the bridge, the hirer of Barkley ranch, and a son of Thomas Barkley without saying a word.

That apparently ticked him off. Heath felt the slap of a hand on his shoulder and a grip that spun him around. Heath let himself turn to face his attacker and take it on the chin.

He always took the first punch. Nobody could honestly say he started it then. He'd learned to survive the first punch then give back more than he'd received.

Nick delivered a fine blow. Its momentum sent Heath sprawling back into the wall left of the door they'd come through. After landing, he looked up.

Nick raised his voice to a near shout. "You're no more a cow-hand than a Modoc!"

Heath nearly raised an eyebrow. Then he tamped down on a sarcastic string of thought. Now was time to think of survival.

Nick was coming at him while raging like a bull. "Alright, boy lets have it, the truth!"

Like that would help a thing. Heath had to remind himself how serious this was. He couldn't laugh right now. Then Heath saw something else that nearly made him smile. Nick was holding his hands near his waist like claws. He thought he could grab him?

Heath clenched his own hands into fists. Then he drove straight between those claws. He delivered three, quick blows.

Heath might have slammed into a wall, but Nick went over a table. Heath didn't go around to give him recovery time. He dove right after him while the man's head was still spinning.

To his surprise, Nick still had some sense left in him. Not much, though. He went back to the grasping idea, but this time rolled while holding on to Heath. They both went right under stall walls and the hooves of horses.

That was stupid. Heath had to keep them spinning fast to survive. He might not want to blow his secret right then, but he wanted to live long enough to do it sometime.

He broke free for a moment, but Nick was relentless. He was on him again as if there was nothing more important than pinning him down. Good night! What did this man want? He couldn't possibly know already. Could he?

Still under a horse's hoofs, Nick took the time to haul Heath to his feet before delivering his next set of questions. He punctured them with punches. "Who sent you here boy, the railroad, Crown, Gordon?"

Heath's head was still spinning. He didn't answer right away. He fell back on some tack, nearly atop a saddle, and into a harness on the wall. Then he stared back at Nick._ That's_ what he thought that he was some lacky for the railroad?

"No man sends me anywhere!" Not anymore. He was going to have his own spread, right after he got away from this. He picked up the harness.

The flying harness didn't connect with Nick's head, but as the man dodged it, Heath went in. He landed some good blows, sending Nick reeling into another stall. Though the man kept himself on his feet and facing him, Heath's next blow sent him over the stall's wall. Heath thought to himself _he,_ at least, had the decency to take their fight into "empty" stalls.

Heath bent over the stall wall, hauled Nick up by the neck, and began to choke him. Nick knew the counter move. He threw Heath over both stall wall and his own head. Things didn't go pretty for Heath from there.

Nick punched him again. Heath got a leg up and kicked Nick away from him. Then he followed. Nick got on his knees and delivered a blow to just below Heath's chest.

Heath gave him one back in the gut. Then Nick gave Heath a last punch that sent him back into the tack. This time, though, he landed below the saddle on the floor. Nick stood over him and asked yet another question. "Who then?"

Heath looked up at him. Nick's mouth was bleeding from its right corner. A fact that made him a little smug even from the floor.

Nick went on around the blood, however, "Who are you? I want to hear."

Heath began to stand up, slowly, staring at Nick. Could he get out of this stable? Take his secret with him this time? Reach the man in the suit to get Nick off his back?

Heath felt his body tremble. He wavered a bit. It had been a day, and now a night. He spit out a bit of blood while still thinking.

Nick interrupted Heath's inner debate with himself. "I said, 'Who are you?'"

Heath looked up at his attacker in awe. This man was determined. In a way, Heath could admire that.

Well, Nick had beat him for it. He'd bled for it. He'd accused him for it. Sure, Heath would give him what he wanted.

He would deliver up to Nick Barkley the one secret he didn't share with anyone, not friends, not girls, not even his horse. This time though, it wouldn't be just be him bearing the humiliation. This time, someone else would hurt. This time, someone else would feel the chill of knowing exactly who his father was … and wasn't. Heath was really looking forward to this now. Nonetheless, the old rage and humiliation of it, gave his voice a slight tremble. "Your father's bastard son!"

Nick froze. All the fire went out of those hazel eyes. All expression left his face. Heath almost laughed. His secret had been safe after all. Nick _had _only thought him a lacky for the railroad men._ This_ possibility had never occurred to him. Thomas Barkley must have been a good liar, a good hider of his sins.

Then the fire returned to Nick's eyes with a vengeance. Heath saw it. He saw Nick's expression change as the man came at him again. Heath lifted his arms to block the blows coming for him, sure they'd be meant to kill this time. Some men didn't take the truth well.

Instead, he felt his collar gripped. Heath thought next he'd be dragged to his horse. That was fine by him. No way would he be welcome to work here now. He'd be thrown off Barkley ranch and have to fight his way back on it again. That was fine by him too. But no, Nick led him out of the stable and toward … the house, Barkley palace.

Heath was going to see the inside of his father's mansion. That was fine by him too. He'd wondered about it for a long time …

**Well, what did you think?  
**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	7. Chapter 7

**I own none of the characters or places from "Big Valley." I hope those who do don't mind me filling in the blanks from their show with no pay. I do it out of love for their work.**

**Please read and enjoy for free.**

Nick dragged Heath into the house. Then he shouted the names "Jarrod" and "Eugene." Once they were inside the door, Heath caught sight of a golden carpet and more stairs than he had ever seen before. He was thrust into a big room with a fireplace, more carpet, and furniture the like of which he'd only seen a very few times in his life.

Then he spied bottles of alcohol _glass_ bottles of alcohol. Better yet, Nick turned him loose. He wanted to face the door to greet this Jarrod and Eugene "unencumbered" it seemed. Maybe "Jarrod" and "Eugene" were his brothers, the men on the veranda, or maybe they were favored servants with really big, hard fists. Either way, Heath decided to be ready.

He paused to pour himself a drink. Then he grabbed an empty bottle and broke it. Finally, he turned.

There were the men from the veranda, his brothers. Half-brothers. All three of them now stared at him. Heath felt the weariness in his brain and body as he faced three men who were all likely to try to kill him within the next few moments. He wasn't going to let that happen before he had his say, though. "Now, I've had me a day, fight and dunked in a stream and near-killed by a train. This one's going to be peaceful; you hear?"

Nick looked ready to try grabbing the bottle away from Heath. He hoped he'd try. The one in the suit stared at him looking angry like Nick, but more serious and still. The fresh-faced boy stood in the background _just _staring … Wasn't there any life in this kid at all?

Now Heath had them all held off, he could study his surroundings some more. Nice furniture, plenty of expensive alcohol, fireplace, paintings all this, after he and his mother had stared at the same canvas walls for years wearing the same set of clothes and drinking and washing in water they prayed no one had spat in.

Heath almost shook his head but just smiled instead. "So, this is what it is. Well, I wondered." He caught sight of the portrait hanging over the fireplace. An old man with a white beard, well-trimmed and groomed, wearing a suit to put the one worn by one of the living men in the room to shame. The old _gentleman_ almost looked like a famous general or a past president, but Heath recognized him from the article he carried in his pocket. He pointed to the painting with the broken bottle and spoke as if he'd drunk more of what was in it than he had. "Look at that. The old stud himself."

He noticed movement in the corner of his eye. The fresh-faced boy finally showed a sign of life. He came at him. The man in the suit grabbed him and held him off. Heath smirked. So, "Eugene" did have some "fight" in him, as others had said, but Heath was now past the point of caring.

The man in the suit, likely 'Jarrod,' had intercepted his little brother, so Heath could continue, and he did. He stared at the portrait on the wall again. So, this was the man who'd abandoned his mother. "Bow howdy, don't he look proper."

That was something no man but him in his memory had ever noticed in his mother, how proper she behaved no matter how she looked on the outside. With his father, had it not been the opposite? Just how thick had his façade been?

**So, what do you all think?**

**God Bless**

**ScirbeofHeroes**


	8. Chapter 8

**I own none of the characters or places from "Big Valley." I hope those who do don't mind me filling in the blanks with no pay just out of love for the show. **

**Please read and enjoy.**

Heath looked down from the portrait of his,_ their_, father to his brothers. Rage built up in his chest. He clutched the broken bottle. They had to listen, and he was going to make sure they did. "You know I bet they buried him in those clothes, with his button all shined, and his hair all spit and slickered, and a rose in his teeth, and the honey-bees buzzing!"

Nick exclaimed, "Oh, now, that's all …" He charged him. The man in his shirtsleeves, most likely Jarrod, caught him like he had the younger boy Eugene.

That was all fair Heath guessed. After all, he hadn't been there at the event like them. He was just going by the article he'd read over about a hundred times and all he'd dreamed up since out of it. His favorite such dream was the one where he yelled at those thousand people about what Thomas Barkley really was, and all the time they didn't flinch, didn't lift up their eyes, didn't pay him any heed. They all just stared at the dead man as he was the most important person in the world.

The memory of those fantasies carried Heath away again. He strode across the room yelling as he had in those dreams. Now his audience's eyes followed him. They were all ears too it looked like. So, Heath gave them all he was worth. "I'll bet a band played, and there was singing and wailing, and ever so good a time!"

He strode past the fresh-faced boy. The kid looked ready to murder him. Heath actually liked him better for that. However, he was going too fast now. He was like an over-heated train or a Modoc desperately needing to keep going to cool down after a race with one.

Heath laid down the bottle and his last blow. "And some parson reading!" He lifted cupped hands to show the way that holy man must've held up his good book. How his mama would've loved a parson to have read a good book over her grave. Instead … Heath stared at the three men before him. One looked so mature, refined. Another looked so hostile and wild. Another looked serious, yet youthful. None of them had had to bury kin like he had. "They buried my mama, and it wasn't in refinement and no thousand people weeped over her grave …"

. . .

Heath leaned in shock on the sagging fence. It surrounded the yard around the house his mama, Aunt Rachel, and Hannah had bought using the money he'd sent them after working a good job for a while. Mostly they'd been able to afford it then, because the last folk who'd lived there were eager to get out of Strawberry in a hurry.

Two men, probably the last two men living within two miles of the house, walked up the otherwise deserted street. Empty houses lined either side of it looking down sadly upon the scene. The men paused before Heath. For a moment, they stared at him eyes full of curiosity. "She dead yet?"

Heath raised his bowed head. His eyes lost their glazed look to squint at them. "What?"

The man who hadn't spoken elbowed the one who had. Then he hooked his fingers in his suspenders while trying to affect a concerned tone. "Yer ma, boy. She passed away yet?" The grey-bearded gentleman in a dust-covered and patched, third-rate suit bent at his waist to get his foul breath closer to Heath's face.

Heath glared back. His hands gripped the aged wood of the fence. He ground out between grit teeth. "Yeah … she's dead."

"Well, I guess we'll go get her."

The men began to lurch forward. Heath yowled at them like a shot cat. "No, you won't'!"

He spun around and marched into the house. His feet stomped up the steps, over the porch, across the house's wood floors. He froze when he stepped into the doorway of his mama's room.

Aunt Rachel and Hannah knelt on either side of her. She lay limply atop a bed-sheet on the floor next to her deathbed. Her own bed-sheet was still on the mattress. Rachel looked up at Heath and seemed to read his thoughts. "It's from my bed Heath. I'll … wash hers and use it later."

He reached up, pressed his hands into the doorjamb, and nodded. Then he stared at the dress on her. It was better made goods at one time and pink, faded now, but still pink. He nodded at it. His voice came out hoarse. "Yours too?"

Rachel met his gaze. "Hannah's."

He switched his gaze to the dark, wet face and saw a wide smile mixed with tears and a crinkled, but downcast gaze. "Your mama said I should have something nice for my birthday some years back! You sent us some money and …"

"The store was going out of business wasn't it?"

Rachel's eyes flashed. He thought in less sad circumstances she'd of waved a finger at him. "Now, Heath there is nothing shameful about taking advantage of an opportunity if you do so to other folk's relief not harm. Bout no one was buying such things in those days cept us, because of you."

"Uh-huh." Now he leaned on the door-frame looking in, trying to fix his gaze on a drooping, worn bow sewn into the fabric rather than his mother's wasted, ashen face.

Aunt Rachel got down to practicalities again. "Are the men here to bury her, yet?"

"Uh-huh."

She sighed and looked down at her friend. "Well, then …"

Hannah still looked up at Heath and seemed to read his thoughts too. "We washed her for your visit Heath! I can still smell the soap!"

"Uh-huh."

Aunt Rachel's voice turned sharp. "Heath." He looked up and she met his gaze with a hard stare and set mouth. "Did you chase the two grave-diggers away?"

He paused before answering. "I don't think so. I just … want to carry her myself."

Aunt Rachel's gaze softened. She sighed. "There's … no casket. We'll just have'ta bury her like this."

"Her soul's in heaven, Heath." Hannah added. "She don't mind. She just really wanted ya to come see her fore she went. And you did, she was so glad …" Hannah's voice got strained and her mouth pursed. Tears rushed out of her eyes.

Heath sighed. His shoulders drooped. Then he strode in, picked her up, and carried her out sideways bed-sheet and all.

He carried her out of the house stepping lighter than when he came in. She didn't weigh much. Rachel called out the doorway after him before he reached the gate. "Open it for him and lead the way!"

The two men did, trying to stay first far back then far forward from him. Heath strode down the street, angrier again with every step. He stopped when he realized where they'd led him to.

Lots of little graves huddled together: men, children, a few women. No order to be seen in last name, age, nor station really from what he could remember. There was a new, deep trench dug in their midst. They were gonna bury his mama …

. . .

Heath growled at his half-brothers, "In a potter's field like she was nothin! Human nor flesh!"

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	9. Chapter 9

**I own none of the characters or places from "Big Valley." I hope they don't mind me filling in the blanks from their show with no pay. **

**Please read and enjoy.**

He stared at the three men before him, wondering what stories they had heard about their births. Who had celebrated with their parents, his father? Had as many been there for their births as had joined them in weeping over his father's death?

Hannah and his mother had tried to tell him about his birth as if it had been some grand adventure. Hannah had gone out into the rain to get help, a doctor, another woman, somebody, supplies, something. She hadn't come back in a long time. She had lost her way in the dark. She had tripped in the dirt and mud. The doctor had been drunk and wouldn't come. She'd shouted, and begged, and pleaded a few things from him, like a proper, sharp knife. In trying to help, Hannah had accidentally left his mother to face it all herself. That's not the way she'd said it, though.

"God was with me Heath. I begged him to make sure you were born alive and well the whole time. I didn't know what I'd do if you were still-born or sickly. What could I have done for you if those things had happened, but instead …" She'd smile at him when she got to this part, "You were born big, and red, and wailing as if to prove to me all my prayers had been heard. Even so, I had to hold ya close to me, to keep you warm since we were both wet. Then Hannah came back with the surgeon's knife, and whiskey, and a blanket still dry on the inside. And you know what else, Baby? Neither of us got sick over the next few weeks. It was a miracle, Heath! Between the three of us and God, we made it, the two of us made it!"

Try as he might though, Heath couldn't see it that way not after witnessing a few births himself. He'd seen women so afraid, so pained, and how people scrambled to get them in a comfy bed, with clean sheets, to get hot water nearby and ready … but he knew …

"The night I was born, she was alone! In a tent, in the rotten rat-hole of a mining camp, up the Stanislaus, and the rain beat down, and turned the straw to mud! Do you know what she was?"

He watched the men's faces looking for something a glimmer of a memory, of girls in bright clothes with fake smiles asking for a drink. He wanted that in their minds, so he could dash that picture of her. She wasn't like that at all.

. . .

"Heath!"

He looked up at her red-faced, his pride stinging as much as his skin. "I just wanted to touch the pretty horse, Mama!"

She grabbed a cloth from her basket of wet clothes, careful to make sure it was one of her own things. It was a rarity for her to own: a spare undergarment. Heath had seen them up hanging enough not to be embarrassed by the sight of it.

When she began dabbing the red, stinging streak of a mark across his face, though, it was another thing. He flinched less at her light touch than at the nature of the what she used to tend his hurt with. Her eyes were blue and intense. "Heath what happened?" He didn't want to answer her question, so his eyes looked away. She carefully took his face so not to touch his the sore streak on it, and turned him so she could look in his eyes even if he was looking far away. He met her gaze the next moment, unwilling to be a coward long, and saw the firmness there. She whispered his name. _"Heath …"_

Anger welled up inside him. He clenched his fists and bit out. "I just wanted to touch it! It was such a pretty iron grey, and big, and nice! Then its owner came and told me not to steal it! He slapped me on my … and on my back and face too!"

His mother sighed. "Heath … don't you think when you buy a horse like that someday, you won't want anyone touching it without asking you first either?"

Heath thought about that for a moment and then cast his gaze down and put his hands in his pockets. "Maybe …"

She then pursed her lips and went back to dabbing at his the streak on his cheek. "Still … he didn't have to hit you in the face!"

. . .

Heath went on in a very different tone of voice to the three men who had never met his mother than he'd used to address them before making its sound like the one he described. _"She was warm, and gentle, and fair …"_

**What did you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own any of the characters or places from "Big Valley."Please read and enjoy without cost.**

Heath took a breath and his voice gained power and anger again. "And left to her own, when her husband got liquored up and drowned in some stinkin creek." He glanced back up at the portrait hanging over the fireplace "Until he came."

. . .

"Leah!"

His mother's hand froze. Her wet underthing felt like it would freeze to his welt. He froze with it.

Heath saw even her eyes freeze like a doe's as they stare into you before you pull the trigger. Heath's gaze went over her shoulder to the man holding a bottle. He stank of alcohol and sweat and … other things. He swayed slightly. He stared, fascinated, at his mother's back. "Leah, I got me a bottle and a half and a warm bedroll to share."

His mother stood, took Heath's hand, and began to walk him to their own tent without turning or glancing over her shoulder in the man's direction. "I'm sorry Seth. I gotta go put this boy down to bed, read him the scriptures, and help him say his prayers."

"What! Am I any less than your husband was? He liked his whiskey too before he fell into the creek!"

Heath glanced up into his mother's face. She was biting her bottom lip. He thought she had even wetter eyes than earlier when she'd just been examining and cleaning the welts on his face."

Heath turned a scowl back at the man. He saw Seth's face had gone even redder. Then the man shouted. "That boy wouldn't even be here if'in you was really this high and mighty, Leah! Leah you hear me?!"

His mother responded by picking up her pace a bit. Heath turned his gaze to the opening of their tent ahead of them. He picked his on feet up higher and lengthened his stride enough to drag her along. Then he heard and felt the man coming after them.

His mother ran. The man lumbered faster after her. Then he was in head-long pursuit. They dove through their tent opening. His ma shouted. "Heath, the rifle!"

He slid to a stop before it, picked it up, and thrust it into her hands. She was on her knees. She turned on them toward the tent opening and aimed up. Seth arrived. He lurched to a stop at stared into the gun barrels.

His mama hissed down the barrel. "You go on now, Seth. Go on!"

He even paused to tip his hat to her before turning and leaving. Heath's mama sagged once Seth's back was no longer in sight outside the tent. She let her shoulders fall and head hang. She stuck the rifle's stock into the earth and leaned on the gun. Heath quietly stepped up to her side. "Mama?"

"Yes, Heath?"

He drew a step closer and whispered down into her ear. _"Is the gun loaded?"_

She raised up her head and shook it. "No, Heath. It isn't."

He tilted his head, raised his eyebrows, and shoved his hand into his pockets. "Maybe it ought to be ma."

She raised her hazel eyes to him. "Heath, you know I could never hurt anyone."

. . .

Heath closed his own eyes in pain at the memory now. There it was. She could never hurt anyone, and everyone and his brother could hurt her just fine.

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	11. Chapter 11

**I own none of the characters of places mentioned in "Big Valley." I love to play with them for free at least. So please read for free too. :)**

Heath closed his own eyes in pain at the memory now. There it was. She could never hurt anyone, and everyone and his brother could hurt her just fine.

Jarrod interrupted his thoughts anger in his voice. "How long ago was this?"

Heath didn't have to count. He knew. He'd been counting it up to himself since he'd learned how long it took for babies to come and added to that his age. "Twenty-four years."

"Where?"

"The mining camp."

Nick interrupted the anger in his voice louder and raw. "You told us that."

Jarrod asked the pertinent question. "What mining camp?"

Now it took a moment, with all those memories from his past he'd slipped back into that little boy in whose small word there was only one. "Strawberry."

Heath watched the three men. The youngest looked back at the two oldest. He wouldn't be old enough to know. The other two though, maybe barely. Both looked thoughtful for a moment even Nick.

Jarrod's look continued longer though. "Nick" threw back, "Come on, you know there was a lot of men in those camps, know the kind of women."

Jarrod snapped back. "Nick!"

"There was only one of my mother!"

. . .

"And when the Lord saw that Leah was hated, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren."

Heath lay on his bedroll watching his mother scan the pages of her Bible. The light of their lantern illuminated the the soft features of her face as she read about the woman she was named for. "And Leah conceived, and bare a son, and she called his name Reuben: for she said, Surely the Lord hath looked upon my affliction; now therefore my husband will love me. And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Because the Lord hath heard that I was hated, he hath therefore given me this son also: and she called his name Simeon. And she conceived again, and bare a son; and said, Now this time will my husband be joined unto me, because I have born him three sons: therefore was his name called Levi. And she conceived again, and bare a son: and she said, Now will I praise the Lord: therefore she called his name Judah; and left bearing." The Leah who was Heath's mother closed her Bible and opened up the lantern to blow out its flame.

"Mama?"

She left off blowing out the flame and looked to him. "Yes, Heath."

"Hannah said the Leah in the Bible had even more kids later and thought her husband would love her for it then too. That true?"

His mother sighed, "Yes, Heath, that's true."

"Could you maybe get my pa to love you by telling him about me?"

His mother sighed and gave him a soft, sad smile,_ "No Heath, I'm not that Leah."_

. . .

Heath sighed in the present. _No, his mother had never been that Leah, nor any other, but herself._

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	12. Chapter 12

**I own none of the characters or places mentioned in "Big Valley." I just play with them for free. So please read what I write of them for free and enjoy. :)**

Nick interrupted Heath's memories by raising his arm in a grand gesture and commenting, "Just a simple, sweet, innocent little …"

As Heath fumed silently, Jarrod stepped toward him. Jarrod interrupted Nick by speaking in more serious and less mocking voice. "What my brother is clumsily trying to determine, is when you came to hear …"

Heath knew the question already. He met Jarrod's gaze and delivered the answer, "A month ago."

Nick stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure."

Heath glanced at Nick, but then looked back to Jarrod. His eldest half-brother had kept his sharp gaze locked on him. His voice was like sharp, intense, almost as if he feared … Heath had to listen to Jarrod's words again. "What happened a month ago?"

Heath felt some of the heat in his belly come out in his words. "My mother died."

Nick raised his voice again while looking to the ceiling. "Confessions from a death bed!"

Jarrod turned and shouted at his younger, accepted, brother, "Nick that will be enough!" Then he turned his stare back on Heath. His tone lowered, but remained serious. "Well?"

Heath stared into Jarrod. Did he really believe? Even if he did, would it be enough? How would he react even if he did believe? Would he find a legal loophole, or something even bigger, to keep him out of things, since, though he was his father's son also, he was not his mother's, not conceived in marriage. Why should he care if his half-brother believed him or not? If he did, fine. If not, he'd still have his say.

Heath looked away for this part. For the first time in this telling of his and his mother's story, he felt ashamed. For all the rest of it, others had done his mama wrong, but Heath knew, he'd knew he'd done her wrong in the end.

Heath took a few steps across the room ... gathering his thoughts. He softened his voice. He was almost telling himself the story now … How his life had changed, how the dearest thing still a part of his life had been ripped from it, how he wronged the person he most loved and admired all his life, between "serious relationships." Most of those girls and women, he'd wished he'd never allowed to take that place in his heart even temporarily. After so many years of being there for him, when they had not, his mother had then been gone leaving more pain and confusion in her wake and leaving him both more proud and ashamed and puzzled, than he'd ever been before. Heath began.

"I'd been up on the Klamath."

The long winding river was a good place to hunt. There was plenty for a man to eat there, he could catch with his own hands, shoot with his own gun, hunt with his own wits. You could even do a little trapping and earn some money. There were plenty of mountains round about too.

Heath remembered coming down off one after poking around to see if the rock might just be hiding something valuable. Finding a mine of his own too keep himself and the three ladies currently in his life in luxury the rest of their lives was one of his many dreams. It hadn't come true that day.

Heath had been coming down the mountain, being careful he and his rented mule didn't fall, straining his muscles to stay seated, giving his full attention to the matter, sighing in relief when they'd reached bottom. He'd had no idea what was coming next.

"They called for me …"

. . .

A man was racing to him, heavy-set, middle aged, wide faced. He'd remembered then the man's smile at him before he'd gone up the mountain, how eager he'd been to sell him supplies, his kindly, affectionate, manners. Heath had liked the man during their short acquaintanceship. He had even left the man his name, giving his last as his mama's married name despite her late husband not being …

The man was now yelling the name Heath had left with him while running at him and holding aloft a piece of paper. Finally, he arrived at his mule's side out of breath and gazing up at Heath with wide eyes. In gasps he said, "Your mama!" (Wheeze) "They sent word …" (Wheeze) "Your aunt Rachel and their friend …" (Wheeze)

Heath broke in, "What about my mama?"

He looked up at him and sorrow filled his deep brown eyes. Heath caught his breath. Despite not wanting to hear the words, he kept his peace until the man said them while holding out the paper to him. Heath could now see the little cluster of other people watching them from a safe distance. Even from there he could see their sympathy. He'd hung his head before the man had even replied. "It's your mama, Mr. Heath! They say she's sick, even …" Here he paused and managed to look even sadder, even sorrier for him, "Even dying …"

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	13. Chapter 13

**I own none of the characters or places mentioned in "Big Valley." I just play with them for free. So please read what I write about them for free and enjoy. :)**

"Said she was sick … dying."

. . .

Heath grabbed the paper from the wheezing, sympathetic man and read it. They were Hannah's words. They must be.

She had to have given the message and money to the person who sent it. Aunt Rachel must have been seeing to all the other chores needed to keep his mother alive and … comfortable. "Heath. Stop. Your mama sick. Stop. She dying. Stop. Can't take something to her grave. Stop. Must see you. Stop."

The word count alone told him how desperate they were. They couldn't afford to send such a long telegram as this, but they had. In Heath's heart, two things warred.

His mother was dying. The woman who'd carried him, birthed him, and carried him again all his first years of life, the one who'd waited for word from him ever since he'd left her, and had always been there to come back to might not be this time. But she was holding on for him now. He knew it. And likely … it was hurting her. He had to get to her. He had to give her that after everything. Selfishly, he wanted that for himself too, to see her, say goodbye, have that memory, not just an empty space where it should be.

But there was something else burning in his mind and heart too. She'd said she had to tell him something, something she couldn't take to her grave. He knew what she'd meant.

She was ready to tell him. He could finally know his real father's name, not her dead husband's, his father's real name. Both thoughts drove him all the way home. He had to finally know.

. . .

Heath gave a bitter grin in the living room of his father's mansion, before his half-brothers. If only he'd known then. They could never understand, these three, what that had been like, to want to know, to now regret knowing, to make a trade you couldn't take back. "She never talked about it, who my father was not in all these years."

. .

"Mama?"

"Yes, Heath?"

His mama didn't look up from the laundry she was running over the board in the stream. Her hair was wet with sweat, her head hung in weariness. Maybe she was just weak enough to give it up. Five-year-old Heath stared holes in the side of his mama's head as he asked, "Who was my father?"

She gave a soft smile as she replied even softer, "A man as curious as you."

Heath mumbled something his mama wouldn't like to hear low enough so she didn't say something back "he" wouldn't like to hear.

. . .

"Mama?"

"Hmmmm …" His mother lay next to him in their tent, lax in exhaustion. Eight-year-old Heath stared holes in the back of her head. Maybe now …

"Who was my father?"

He could hear the smile in her voice even if he couldn't see it then. "He acted like he never had to sleep … like you …"

. . .

"Mama?"

"Yes, Heath?"

The Christmas he was nine, Heath stared at his mama bent over her Bible, which was open in her lap. The chill in the air gave her cheeks and the end of her nose just a hint of red. to Her eyelashes hung low. Her voice was a bit sad. Maybe now ...

Heath licked his lips. "Can I have a special Christmas present today?"

His mama turned her head to stare at him. A spark of curiosity flashed in the depths of her tired, defeated-looking eyes. "What Christmas present might that be?"

"Tell me about my pa."

His mama smiled. She raised an arm, reached out, and took ahold of the side of his head. She rubbed her calloused thumb over his cheek. "He looked just like you, Heath, but older. He was tall, and fair, and strong like you. He was determined and handsome. His hands were rougher than mine. His voice low with a strong hint of humor. And …" Here she paused and took a breath. A tremor shook it. Tears flooded her eyes … "And I loved him … Heath! As much as I love you …"

She bit her lip to stop herself from crying, then she took him in her arms and held him tight. Heath clutched her back, hard. He clenched his jaw. He decided something. He must never ask her again. It hurt her too much. He couldn't keep doing this to her. Never again. It wasn't worth it.

Over ten years later, he rode back to her from the mountains between Oregon and California, and knew … it would finally be at peace between them. It would be a relief to her now wouldn't it? It was right that this desire had roused and burned inside him once again.

. . .

A little over a month after that journey, his tone had turned hard before his father' portrait. He hadn't been ready then. He'd thought he was more than ready, but he hadn't been. How could he make them understand? He couldn't. "There was something she wanted me to know. Something she couldn't take to her grave."

. . .

Heath had barely stopped to hunt along the game-rich Klamath river. He barely stopped to sleep on its banks. He barely stopped to breathe. His mother was dying. And she was finally going to tell him who his father was.

He stopped to purchase a horse from the Modok. Theirs were the fastest in the area. One could get him there in time. He had to say goodbye to the woman who'd raised him, known and loved and been patient with him all his remembered life, and even beforehand. He had to know who his father was!

He chose the black one. It was fast. He could tell. It was healthy. He could tell. It was intelligent. And … it was black. That seemed appropriate somehow.

They had wanted his gun for it. Thankfully, he talked and traded them down to something else. His gun was feeding him. He needed little else. A fast horse, a fast gun, and a smooth, lightning-fast journey. That was what he needed now.

He knew little else those many hours. He heeded little else, thought little else, dreamed of little else, just a goodbye, just an answer. His mama was dying. His father's name was within reach.

He rode up hard on the town of Strawberry. He left the horse at the barely still running livery. He yelled at the man still running it. "Take care of him! I rode him hard! I'll make it worth your while later! Promise!"

He said this while dismounting and sliding past his mount and out of the stall, past the man he yelled to, and then sprinting out of the stable. The man had looked more surprised at the sight of the Modok pony than Heath's words. Both men knew each other. Everybody knew each other around here even if they hadn't been there for years.

Heath ran down the empty streets and between the empty houses, till he got to the one structure actually occupied. He leapt right over the gate. He rushed up onto the porch, threw the door open.

Rachel spun away from the stove as the door slammed against the wall. Their eyes met. He gazed into them looking for anger, disappointment, despair. He just saw grief. It told him nothing.

He demanded. "Where is she?"

"She's in her room, in bed, waiting for you."

His shoulders fell. A breath left him in a deep, relieved sigh. Then he gave a broken laugh while gripping his head and nodded to her. "Thank you."

Her eyebrow and voice rose at his reply. "You better hurry."

Heath strode past her and down the short hall. He threw open her bedroom door. Hannah jumped a bit, turned, and looked up at him.

She looked the same. Deeper crevices were in her face. They were bigger bags under her eyes. The woman in the bed, though. He barely recognized her.

It was her smile that made it clear to him, the way it lit up her blue eyes, the way it flashed with the sight of her still white teeth, and made her now-yellowing skin glow. And even the voice that wheezed out … He'd recognize it anywhere. "Heath …"

Hannah left off dabbing at his mother's face with a wet cloth, set it down, rose from where she'd been on her knees beside his mother's bed and walked out the door. She only paused to pat his arm and say "I'll leave you two alone."

. . .

Heath remembered that painful time they were "alone," for the last time. Before his three "family" members by blood, he seethed. They could never be … they could never understand … what he had felt then, even if they had lost their shared "father …" They could never understand what he'd done.

. . .

Heath stared at the figure staring back at him. She … she looked like he had, like the others had, in the prison camp. Something … something had to be eating her … from the inside … gnawing at her flesh from within, stealing her sleep! He could see the bags under her eyes. They were worse than Hannah's, much worse.

Why? Oh God, why?! Why do this to her? Hadn't she always loved Him?

She was a "Saint" whatever anybody else said. Why this? Why her? Why any of it?

She wheezed again. _"Heath ..?"_

He fell to his hand and knees and crawled on them to her bedside. Once there, he rested his arms on the mattress beside her thins frame. Then he looked her in the eyes and smiled. Inwardly, he was screaming at himself. How could he have stayed away so long? How long had this been happening? Outwardly he showed her perfect calm, even joy. She'd like that. He even tried on an innocent, little-boy voice for her. "Yes, mama ..?"

_"You came!"_

His throat grew tight, but he managed to croak out through his pinned up smile, "Course!"

She raised a wasted, skeletal hand and brushed back some of his now wild hair. _"You look so big, so strong now, so much like him!"_

Heath frowned. He didn't want to talk about him. Now it came to it, he didn't.

How dare "he" invade this moment. He hadn't been here all their shared lives. How dare he invade it now!

He didn't want to know. He didn't care. Her next words made his shoulders fall as they relaxed.

_"Get the Bible, Heath!"_

He sighed in relief, turned, and went for it. As mad as he was at God right now, he'd way rather talk about the invisible figure who had always shared their lives than the man who supposedly "was" flesh in their lifetime but had always seemed even farther away.

"God," Heath could bear to share this with, especially since his mama wanted it. He'd give her anything right now. He got the Bible from where it always hid when she wasn't reading it now.

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	14. Chapter 14

**I own none of the characters or places mentioned in "Big Valley." I just play with them for free. So please read what I write about them for free and enjoy. :)**

He looked up before his brothers … his "half" brothers and gave a sad smile remembering those last moments, how familiar, how loving, how her. No wonder he hadn't seen it coming. "There was a Bible a box. She told me to get it."

. . .

He opened the box, reached in, grabbed it, pulled it out. Then he turned to her. Her smile scared him a bit. It looked sad. Well, of course it did. She was dying!

He turned and edged back over to the side of her bed, holding the Bible in his lap. For a while now she had insisted, he do more and more of the "finding and reading." He had to know enough to find the right book, chapter, and verse on his own and read it aloud to satisfy her. He wanted to satisfy her now. What would she want, something from "Genesis," "Psalms," "Mark," "Acts," "Ephesians," maybe "Revelation?" With that last guess he was almost right.

"Turn to the back, to the last page."

He frowned before raising an eyebrow at her. Why? There was nothing there. In the front was a blank page. On it had been written his mother's family history. Listed were the births and death dates of her parents, their wedding date, all their children's birth dates including hers and uncle Matthew's, and some of their death dates, (something he didn't want to think about right now) the death of her beloved father and marriage of her mother to her less beloved stepfather and the exodus of her and Matthew to come here, Strawberry. The dates of her marriage to her husband, his death, and Heath's own birth were there too. Even Hannah and Aunt Rachel were in there, their birth dates and the dates under his and his mother's Hannah's mostly guessed after they'd insisted she not be left out. All the family history he knew of was in there on the front, blank page of this Bible. But the back?

He shrugged and turned to it anyway. He'd humor her. Then it fell out.

. . .

His face grew sadder and voice tighter as he told his "surviving" family members how he came to know of them and the terrible cost he'd paid in doing so. "She said 'Turn to the back, to the last page.' I did. This fell out. I read it."

. . .

He picked up the slip of paper. His brows furrowed. This wasn't stationery. This was a newspaper clipping. If his mother ever got her hands on someone else's already read newspaper she didn't cut anything out. She might read it. She might be moved. She might begin to pray about people and doings and problems she found in it. She didn't cut anything out though. She used to stuff it beneath or between blankets to give them more cushioning between them and the ground. She didn't dull the scissors she used for her sewing work cutting out a piece of paper.

He unfolded it and read. "Thomas Barkley ... Whole Valley Mourns." A thousand people attended one funeral. Was this the reason she kept this piece of paper, to pray for all of them? He'd been murdered. People in charge of trying to get a train track through the area were suspected. He had had guts, but also an awful lot of power, a lot of wealth it seemed. The people had lost a leader in their fight. His mama probably wanted to pray for them all and the times they'd go through, this whole valley, pray somehow God would help their be less violence less … dying …

Heath froze and stared. It was the word "Strawberry" that leapt out at him. It was the start, the article read, the start of Barkley wealth outside of the Valley of all those vast holdings. He'd bought a share in …

Heath drew a sharp intake of breath. Then he read the rest. Attendees of the funeral had included Thomas Barkley's wife draped in an expensive, floating, trailing, black dress and veil, with matching gloves. Also in attendance had been Thomas Barkley's daughter, young, also dressed in mourning, and his three … three … sons!

A later paragraph also jumped out at him. "Thomas Barkley left his wife in charge of his empire, with a large sum in a trust fund set aside for his daughter's well being. She is to receive control of it, when she weds and leaves the ranch. The responsibility of running, and future profits of, the ranch and his many holdings will be divided equally between Thomas' wife and all his sons … once they come of age, providing they all take part in the running of the ranch and outside investments.

Heath took another breath, wiped his hand over his face, looked up … and that's when he noticed it. It crashed over him like a thunderbolt, except its true nature was the exact opposite of such. There was no sound except his own shuddering breaths and movements. Everything else was silent. Everything else was still. Including his mother.

"Mama …" He leaned over. He'd been about to ask "why". But now that fled his mind. "Mama."

Nothing. She didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe. She had an expression of … peace, but he crumbled inside. "Mama!"

He threw himself beside her on the little mattress. He crushed her close. The piece of paper was abandoned on the floor beside her bed.

. . .

A month later, he stood in the big, big living room of his late, late father and held out that now very important piece of paper. "And I looked at her … and she was gone."

All the fire was gone too … for now. He wanted to see what they would do. He wanted to see their faces. Jarrod took the paper from him, scanned it. Likely he'd already read it. Had he read it as often as he, over, and over after one of his parents' funerals? Well, he hadn't had to, he'd lived it not just read about it. That should make a difference, a big difference. It did to him.

Nick grabbed it from Jarrod. "That's it, one piece of paper?"

They didn't understand. They didn't realize, didn't know what it all meant. It's placement in her Bible, the fact it had been cut out, the fact she kept it, the fact she asked him to turn to a place in the Bible with no scriptures to read in the last moments of her life!

Or maybe … maybe they didn't believe him at all …

**What do "you" think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	15. Chapter 15

**I own no place and nobody in "Big Valley." This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

Heath's voice, once soft remembering that precious, wasted time, became loud again, and it took on a harder edge. "He was my father!"

"Alright boy." Nick stuffed into Heath's front, shirt pocket the "piece of paper" the younger man hated but clung to like it was the last match just before night fell in the desert.

Leah's son clenched his jaw before opening it again to say, "You don't believe me."

Then the loudest among his "half" brothers turned to the youngest among them and said. "Get his horse Eugene."

Heath blew up. "You're not dumping me like he dumped her!"

Nick shouted back at him. "Keep your voice down!"

Heath was about to say something about loud, hypocritical brothers raised by reckless, faithless fathers, when his oldest half-brother broke in. "You put together a very touching story, not convincing, but touching."

Heath turned and stared at him. "Convincing?" If this man knew anything, he should know you never had the luxury of making the truth "convincing."

. . .

Heath felt the object in the mud as he walked through the latter with his ten-year-old bare feet. He stopped, looked down, and stepped back. He stared into the muck, seeing nothing. Then he bent down and felt through the mire with his fingers. There it was! He felt something flat, hard, and round.

Heath picked the object up. A bit of hope soared through him. He ran over to a horse-trough and washed the mud off. There it was, a glint of silver. His mouth dropped open. He held it up to the light. Its reflective side shone clear. The coin was almost as big as one of his now widened eyes.

Heath then heard something between a growl and a shout behind him. "Where did you get that coin?!"

Less than an hour later, Heath sat on a bench beside a chagrined deputy standing next to it and him, leaning against a wall of the sheriff's office. His mother strode up to them. Her face was pale.

The deputy tipped his hat to her. "Howdy Miss. Your boy hasn't been harmed. I suggest you keep him close to you, though. The man who brought him here with the coin was fighting mad. Wouldn't be surprised if he makes others so too."

Heath sank further down into his seat. His face grew redder, but his lips remained thin, pursed, and silent. His mother's face went whiter. She stood tall, looked the deputy in the face, and softly said, "Thank you, sir." Then she reached out, took Heath's hand, and hauled him to his feet. Then they both turned their backs on the deputy staring sympathetically after them and walked away.

When Heath thought he and his mother far enough from the deputy he wouldn't overhear, he looked up at her. "Mama, I didn't steal that coin! I just found it in the mud!"

"Were you going to keep it?"

Heath bowed his head and kicked at something. "Well … maybe …"

"That wouldn't have been right, Heath."

He gave a heavy sigh. "Maybe so …"

"What did the other man and deputy see you doing?"

Heath shrugged. "I donno. The first guy was behind me after I washed the coin and held it up to the light."

"You weren't standing near anybody who claimed the coin before he yelled at you?"

Heath shook his head and looked up at her. "Nope."

His mother's face turned red. Her eyes flashed. "Then he shouldn't have called you a thief!"

Heath stuck out his chest. Then he looked and strode forward beside his mama holding tight to her hand, ready to punch out anyone if they dared call her a thief. "She" believed in him.

. . .

Heath stared into his "oldest" half-brother's face. Who was this attorney calling a liar here? His mama, him, both?

Jarrod went on. "However, considering whom (his story) might hurt. Even though it is a lie …"

There was that word.

"I'm willing to pay. $300, $400, what do you think?"

Heath thought about a line in the article in his pocket that moment. "What I'm entitled to, a name, a heritage, a part of it all." He raised his voice. Pain and anger clawed up his throat to vent itself upon his brothers. "What's mine!"

Nick grabbed the money from Jarrod and began to fold it as he spoke. "Alright boy! Now you listen to me." He stuffed the money in Heath's shirt pocket as he continued. "I want you out of this house, off this place, and out of this valley. And know this! If I ever lay eyes on you again, I'm gonna finish what we started tonight!"

Heath stared right back. _Fine by me, "Big brother." In fact, I'll do you one better. _Any_ time, _any_ place._

He let his stare speak for him, though. Then he looked down, reached into his pocket and studied the money for a moment. $500. That was a lot of money. Jarrod must have been desperate. Desperate like he and his mama had been desperate. It was worth several months' pay at a good job. Could pay for a lot. But his mama was no longer there to spend it on. His mama was dead, and no $500 dollars could buy her life back or pay for all the misery they both went through while she was alive. All he could do was collect for them both.

He looked up at the two "brothers" closest to him, stuffed the money into the drink he'd poured for himself, and slammed the shot glass down onto the table. He didn't need their liquor either. Then he turned and strode away, but paused, looked back with a smirk and waved. He didn't want to seem like he was running away. This was only the beginning. He could promise them that.

**If you'd like, tell me what you think. :)**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own Heath Barkley, his ma Leah, his half-brothers, or Hannah, but I'm claiming Matthew and Preacher Paul!**

**I intend to make no money, please don't sue!**

Despite his bruises and warnings, Heath smirked as he rode off his "father's" ranch. Well, at least he'd gotten to tell his "brothers" what he really thought. They'd likely believed, until now, the most honorable man in the west had taught them everything they needed to know. Most were shocked to learn who "he" had first learned how to fight and ride from.

Matthew, Matthew had been more of a father to him than Thomas Barkley ever had.

. . .

Heath poked his seven-year-old head up to watch the stranger. He was taking down his tent scarred cheek facing Heath. His eyes focused in on the head of the peg not Heath's hiding place. So, Heath jumped when he said, "Come to stare at a face on a wanted poster boy? See if my scar's as bad as it's drawn?"

Heath slowly stood up. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and moseyed up head bent, but eyes still curious. "Whatcha doin?"

"Setting up my tent."

"Why?"

"To try my luck at gold pannin."

"Why?" Heath now looked up with wide blue eyes. "Aren't you going to steal something instead?"

The man pounded at another peg without turning around but replied after the iron was buried in earth. "Not wanted in this state. Like to keep it that way."

Heath continued to stare. "You really kill seven men?"

The man stood and wiped his sweating hands on his pants. "Most were over a card table. Calm hands and a slack, scarred face are hard to read. Folks can be sore losers."

Heath stared up at the man knowing that, but he'd seen more fist-fights than shoot outs over a card table, or cards lying in the dirt if one wasn't available. He wondered how this man would do at a game in the dirt.

The man set his hands on his hips and stared down at Heath directly, which made him shrink a bit where he stood. The man lowered his smoke-graveled voice. "Where's your pa boy?"

Heath scowled and shrugged. "I donno …"

"What about your ma?"

"Dead!" Heath's voice squeaked a bit at that reply, and it came too quickly. He'd die if this bad man did something bad to his mama because he had been curious about him!

The man chuckled, a little sickly Heath thought. "Oh, you're a bad liar, boy. I like you."

"Heath!"

His not-dead-then ma rushed up. "Heath! Land of Goshen! What are you doing here?!"

The man looked up and tilted his black hat back on his head. "Ah … the mother. Don't worry, woman. Your son is unharmed and unsullied, I reckon, cept for a lie maybe … but I don't think it will do any real harm if Jesus is merciful."

Heath's mother scowled, plucked him up, and threw him over her right shoulder. He was still skinny and short enough for her to do this. Then she turned and began to rush away. The man's next shout froze her. In fact, she turned back at it. "He told me you were dead!"

Heath froze too over his' ma's shoulder, groaned, and slumped. Now he'd get it for lying. The man went on, hands in his pockets, standing easy. "If I'd had a mama living alone who looked like you at his age, I'd have said the same thing, but more believably. He's a bad liar. I'd find a man to teach him to be a man around here fore he gets much older if I was you."

. . .

His mama talked to their preacher that night while Heath sulked in their tent. The man was a traveling, save-yourself-from-the-wrath-of-God-and-become-his-child, young sort of preacher. He was surprisingly gentle, understanding, and "young" for his job it seemed.

Heath didn't know any better, but other folks in the camp said he was a nice chap for being a "turn or burn" speaker among sinners. He was one of the few people who'd talk to his ma, including about the Bible. He talked to Hannah about it too, who knew most of it even if she couldn't read, and asked this pastor to read some scriptures aloud to her sometimes like she often asked ma. Figured his ma would tell the preacher about this. Heath relaxed a bit as the pastor sounded understanding outside the tent in the moonlight.

"I might have done the same thing at his age Leah. He's a boy. They're attracted to famous men. I talked to Mr. Bryant myself, when he first arrived, and even pointed out the best place to set up his tent. The man assured me he's just here to try and find gold in the creek, and, if he can't do that, to get some of it by playing cards with those who have."

Heath shivered in his bedroll on the hard earth thinking about what the man had told him about what sometimes happened when he played cards. Leah spoke again. "But Paul, Heath doesn't seem to like it when I read the Bible to him, and now he'd seeking out a murderer over Hannah and me, or you!"

Heath flinched. He didn't like how his mama's voice had cracked as she said this. It "wasn't" that he didn't like or love her or Hannah, or even that he hated the Preacher. He just …

Paul spoke up for him. "He wants a man around, and not one like me. He wants someone famous and fierce he can brag about knowing to the other boys. That's all. I'll talk to Mr. Bryant about what to do if he comes back.

Leah sighed. Heath heard a rustle of cloth like it sounded when his mama slumped. "Thank you …" Heath would have sighed himself if he hadn't thought he'd be overheard.

. . .

He sidled up to the man panning gold in the shallows of the river and again the man talked to him without turning his head. "Back again? I don't think your mama will be happy about that. I must say she's quick and fiery, for a corpse."

Heath blushed. "I came to say I can't be around no more. She doesn't want me stopping by."

"Then why are ya?"

Heath paused. He told himself he should be polite and explain why he wasn't stopping by, but now it sounded stupid in his head even to him. So, he replied. "Don't know."

"Let me take a guess. You want to be like me."

Heath shrugged his shoulders and looked down.

"Why?" The man continued.

Heath blushed and looked away but mumbled. "So, I won't be bothered no more." He paused before continuing, "And so I can stop folks from bothering Ma and Hannah too."

"Hannah?"

"Ma's friend, mine too."

"Hmmm … That preacher fellow help much?"

"Sometimes, but he's not always around. He's got a lot of work to do. 'There's a whole lot of sinners round here.'" The man guhaffed. Heath watched him a moment. "You're not doing a good job of pannin for gold."

The man tipped his black hat back and finally turned around and gave a very strange looking grin and eyebrow rise. Heath thought, what "mostly" made it seem strange was that nasty scar beginning at the man's right eyebrow and runnin down his cheek all the way to his chin. Heath closed one eye in an attempt to only see the good side of the man's face and see whether or not it made a difference. The trick didn't work, but Heath thought the "not" scarred side of the face didn't look dangerous when he concentrated on it, for now.

The face then asked, "And how would you recommend I do better?"

Heath stood on the bank and gave a little advice, giving the man a little more after he'd tried to follow that last bit. Finally, Heath asked, "You sure you don't wanna keep holding up stagecoaches, Mister?

"Sure as sure, Heath."

Heath lifted his head at the realization the man knew his name. "Why?"

"Cause being afraid, or rather, pretended to 'not' be afraid all the time, makes you tired."

"Huh? You! Afraid?"

"You better believe it boy. You don't realize quite how many lawmen and bounty hunters are in a territory till you're trying to avoid them all."

"When did you start?"

"At fourteen."

"Really!"

"Really."

"Why?"

"Cause I wanted to get away from home fast. Bad thing was, I never found a better one, just kept riden. Can't keep a job when everyone knows your face. I'd have to get out now if'in the right folk showed up here."

"Couldn't you just shoot them?"

"There are only so many bullets in the world, boy, and some of them will be flying at me. Not many folks likely to stand by my side either. I'm on my own, while if a lawmen came looking for me, folks likely to side with him, and since I'm not wanted here, yet, a bounty hunter will offer to split the prize and … Well … folks won't help me then either."

"I would."

The scarred face turned to him again and this time just raised a brow. "Why?"

Heath looked down and shrugged. The man went back to pannin. "You just keep ahold of your mama, and Hannah, and even that preacher fellow. They love ya. Which reminds me, you should be scootin."

Heath slumped, looking very like his mama in that moment. He rose to his feet, turned, and began to walk away. Then he heard the man mumble "Whoever left that kid and his ma is a dad-gummed fool."

And something busted out in Heath's heart. It carried him on swift feet right into the creek where he collided with Matthew's leg and clung there like a bird's feet to a branch. Matthew pulled his gun and turned, but realized what was happening before he'd really aimed. He holstered his weapon with a scowl thinking that expression plus the gun would scare Heath off. But the boy only asked, "Can you teach me to draw that fast?"

The preacher showed up looking for him this time and walked him home, but not before Matthew taught him how to fall in a fight, and spin before you were stomped on, and get back up on your feet. The preacher said he would take Heath with him to visit on the excuse he thought Heath was good for Matthew's soul and a few lessons, especially on surviving a fight, were not bad for Heath's. From the way his mama scowled, Heath guessed only a preacher could talk her into this.

The preacher took him and they shared some beans and coffee with Matthew. He sat on a log right next to the preacher, which is the only way his ma would allow this, and listened to the two men talk about where'd they been. Heath raised his eyebrows at the realization they'd been to many of the same places, states if not towns.

There seemed to be a game Heath picked up going on between them. The preacher would ask a question. Matthew would give a short answer. The preacher came up with another question. Another short answer from Matthew. The preacher told of how he'd visited a place near there or taken a stagecoach through the area, and Matthew would finally say he'd held up the bank or robbed a stage-coach, or played a game of cards "right around there." Heath got the idea Matthew wanted the preacher to leave.

Finally, the pastor asked. "How do you like Heath, here, Mr. Bryant?"

Heath perked up and looked with raised eyebrows to the man bent over his beans. Matthew poked his fork into his bowl as he replied. "He's a good boy."

Heath sat a little straighter on his side of the log. The pastor replied. "I think so too."

Heath glanced up at him and blushed. Something must be real wrong with him like his mama and Hannah worried. It felt boring to be a "good boy" in the eyes of the pastor and exciting, like finding gold-dust in your pan, to be so in the eyes of Matthew Bryant, outlaw. Heath sighed. Maybe ma and Hannah were right to worry about him and he was headed straight for …

"Why'd his pa run out on him?"

Heath jerked upright and blinked at Matthew's bowed head. He glanced up at the preacher's usually mild face. It had gone hard, its jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "I don't think it's any of your business, Mr. Bryant. Nor mine."

Heath slumped and his face burned. He was embarrassed, but also disappointed. He'd thought maybe … just maybe … he'd been about to get a few answers. Matthew replied. "Naw, reckon not. Just my pa never got his claws outa me at his age, and here's someone just walk off and leave him and his ma. She seemed pretty, and strong, and "righteous" too from what I can figure. Her carrying him off from me one day, and sending you with him the day after the next one. What possible reason could a man have to walk off and leave that?"

Heath sucked in a breath slowly and puffed up like a toad beside the preacher who just stared at Matthew a moment. Then the pastor replied. "You know, Matthew. I never knew either."

"Why'd you steal?!" Both men turned and looked at Heath. He was staring hard at Matthew. He liked him, really liked him. And he suddenly wanted to know why he liked a bad man so much. He wanted to know why he was bad. Maybe, maybe he'd figure out why so many thought his mama so bad too if he could figure out why he liked Matthew, a bad man.

Matthew looked up to stare at him a moment before looking back down at his beans. "Cause I wanted to get away from my pa."

Heath's mouth dropped open. "Really?"

The pastor spoke softly from beside him in the voice he used when someone was dying nearby … _"Heath …"_

But Matthew went on. "Mama … never did find out what happened to her. Few would say anything about her around me. Parently, I took after my pa. I hated that."

"Me too."

The pastor glanced sideways at Heath before looking back to Matthew, who went on. "Dead little town, even then. Everybody knew everybody, and everybody knew and hated my pa, specially me. So, no one gave me a job. So, I stole my way out. Then I ran, then I had to keep runnin." He looked up at Heath. "People pay you to do anything boy?"

Heath shrugged. Matthew scowled at him. "Well, make em! Be a bur under their tail until they do! That was my problem. I was too proud. People told me "no," I stuffed my hands in my pocket and strode off. Now, I can't afford to. I shoot back, or I run. You chase after folks boy! Don't give them no excuse to chase you!"

"You tired of runnin, Mr. Bryant?"

Heath looked up at the pastor now and saw something that made his already spinning head swirl some more. The pastor looked intent, leaning on his hand staring hard, staring, but not scowling.

Matthew sighed. "Every man does eventually preacher."

The pastor nodded. "I agree." Heath looked down and tried to swallow the lump in his throat so he could finish his beans.

The pastor talked long to his ma and she went over and asked Matthew if he needed anyone to do his laundry. As she did it nearby, Matthew taught her son how to keep his arms up and duck. The proudest day of Heath's young life up to that point was when Matthew taught him how to ride on his mount. It wasn't the most beautiful horse in the world, but it sure seemed so to him then.

For a while, Matthew stayed around his ma as she walked through the tents on the excuse of looking for a good card game since gold-pannin wasn't turning out too well for him. He did win many hands, and got in a few fights, but it wasn't shootin anyone down that forced him to move on. Maybe it was the way he walked a few steps behind Heath's mama, his eyes on the ground instead of her, or the way he and the pastor still talked over beans, or something else, but whatever it was, someone "was" kind enough to get word to Matthew early when a bounty hunter showed up.

That was how barefoot Heath came to run headlong down to Matthew's tent as the man prepared to mount the horse Heath had had his first riding lessons on. Heath had grabbed ahold of Matthew's right leg and shouted. "No!"

"I got to go, boy!"

His mama came along and pried him off. The pastor came up beside her and nodded. He had to nod up, because Matthew had managed to swing himself up into the saddle by then. He didn't ride away immediately, but waited to hear the preacher say, "I'll pray for your safe travels, Matthew."

The scarred man nodded down to him. "Thank ya."

Heath yelled up again. "You can't go!"

"I'm not gonna let ya see me shot or shoot anyone else."

"You're leaving me just like my father!"

His mama looked down at him and spoke sharp. "Heath!"

"It's alright ma'am." He leaned over the saddle horn and gave Heath a brief stare. "Boy. I wish I'd made all sorts of different decisions in my life, because of you. You just make certain whatever you do, you don't make any decisions that force you to leave a fine boy behind like I'm doin now."

Then he turned and rode away. And it was Leah, who shouted "Wait!"

She ran after him, and handed him their new Bible, well, new to her. The pastor had had a friend send it out from the east. They'd be back to reading only from her old family one with the pages falling out again after.

Matthew took it with a chagrinned face and said, "Thank ya, kindly." Then he'd turned his horse back around and rode away. Heath sulked in his tent all day and mumbled he hated all bounty hunters.

Later, when he was seventeen, he heard the infamous Matthew Bryant was dead. He'd ridden to the town to find his grave in a small, one hitching post town with a bar that always had a card game goin. The grave was on a hill with no tree and rough grasses and the only way he found it was the small cross of sticks pounded into silty earth already leaning.

Heath had had some ideas of avenging Matthew until he heard the story. A man had gotten sore over losing, he'd been drinkin and pulled his gun first. Even then, Heath couldn't believe there wasn't more to the story until he learned the man had already spilled at the table to the stranger in town about having a wife and five kids.

Heath saw two and the lady of the house after he pounded on the door looking for the man who shot Matthew. The shooter was big, and husky, and sulky, still saying he'd been cheated. Heath saw a third kid pokin his head around the side of the house and just left.

He's promised to come back though with the money for a headstone and information to put on it. "That" took some time, but he finally found that dead little town, a little less dead after some rainy years had the farmers doing well. Some of the old folks remembered.

Blake Bryant had been a hard man, most known for two things, his drinkin and his skills with a knife. Some said he was a skinner who couldn't run anymore after a bad break in his leg that pained him so much, he'd turned to alcohol. They hadn't known who'd have been desperate or crazy or hard enough to wed him, but the kid he'd driven his wagon into town with just resembled him more and more as the years passed.

He'd been good for nothin when he arrived and been good for nothin till he died, but widdling and skinning when he was sober enough to do so. His boy was a bit handier, but most nobody trusted him. Even so, they'd been a bit shocked to find his father dead on their shack floor with his own knife in his belly. They'd also wondered where the boy had gotten the gun he'd used to wing the shop-keepers daughter while he was robbing it. He was just fourteen. _The same age I was when I joined the war … _Heath thought to himself as he sighed.

Some had told him they should have expected something like that would happen, when they first caught sight of that horrible wound and then scar on the boy's face when he was only eleven. All had understood his fear. Few had been willing to forgive.

Nobody knew of a birthday or anything else to say to Heath about Blake Bryant's boy, Matthew, to put on his tombstone. Nonetheless, Heath went back and bought a tombstone. It read "Matthew Bryant: fast draw, skilled card-player, patient teacher.

What comforted Heath most had not been his childhood friend and near-father having a fast death. Matthew had spent his winnings and what was in his saddle bags, and his horse in trade, to pay his doctor bill in full for care received during his last days on earth. That doctor had been the most helpful source of information on Matthew Heath had found in his investigation. For one thing, he'd told Heath more than he'd wanted to know about a cough he'd heard from his patient. It had aggravated the man's wound, and had most likely meant he'd have been dead in a few years anyway. Unlike the doctor feared from such a rough man, with a rougher reputation, he's always taken his painkiller quietly, and his only request besides it and water was to be read to from a Bible he'd had. This had shocked that doctor most of all. Near the end, his patient had admitted he couldn't read, but had always known he'd kept the book with him for some reason. _"Mostly to remind me of a nice boy and woman some man was crazy enough to leave." _

The doctor had jockingly asked his patient if he'd like him to hear him start with the book bearing his name. He'd gotten a "yes." They'd been a third of the way through Acts, the doctor just going on as he had before his patient stopped responding to the sound of his voice, when his patient had stopped breathing too.

Heath had wept over Matthew's grave unlike with Thomas Barkley's. He'd been partly ashamed at his "Father's grave" by the realization it beat what he'd done for Matthew hollow. Maybe, if he ever got his share of the Barkley estate, he'd fix that.

Heath was shocked out of his memories of the outlaw who'd been like a father to him, when he could have been something much worse, by the sound of a whole lot of laughter and gunfire coming from among the group of buildings he'd planned to spend the night at. Heath pulled up on his mount and stared for a moment. Suddenly, he thought he'd need to remember all Matthew taught him to survive this night in his true "father's" town.

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	17. Chapter 17

**I don't own Heath Barkley, his mama, Hannah or even the store clerk. I do claim Matthew and Pastor Paul. However, I don't own the situation laid out here shown so clearly in the episode this story takes place during. **

**I don't mean to make money here, please don't sue!**

Two years after Matthew left Strawberry, Heath found he could better voice his thoughts so a grown-up could understand them. That was when he asked Paul a question. "Preacher, why did you talk to Matthew so much while he was here, when you knew he was a killer?"

Paul sighed. Heath had noticed he, Hannah, and mama looked sad whenever Matthew was brought up. The preacher met young Heath's gaze and leaned forward. "When I die, I'll meet a perfect man, Heath. Until then I only try to point the imperfect to Him. Matthew regretted what he'd done. He'd been trying to leave his sins behind already, and I was trying to tell him he couldn't do it on his own."

The pastor's face went dark and hard, "But Heath, some love their sins still. They're the most dangerous to themselves and others."

_Pastor, I think you were right._

Heath had been a lot of places in his life. He was now struggling to think of whether or not he'd ever seen such a gathering before. Here, faces from posters ran up and down the streets wasting bullets, alcohol, and blood. He wondered what Matthew would have thought of the sight and him riding through it.

_"__Don't ever take up with them boy. I did and the stench has never left me!"_

Heath rode his Modoc through the mess, step by clomping step of his steed, his rifle ready as a rattlesnake, eyes straring straight ahead even as his ears strained to hear all around him. Glances were cast his way. Even a few glasses were raised. He heard comments behind him.

"Don't recognize him."

"Doesn't look like no tenderfoot from the east."

"Maybe he's just starting as a gun-fighter."

"These railroad folk'll take anybody!"

"Lucky for you!"

"He don't look like just anybody to me!"

"Hey, you, with the rifle, come drink with us."

Thankfully a few shots were fired almost over this offer. Heath used the excuse to turn his head slightly toward the source of the shots and away from the source of the words. He hoped offense would, therefore, not be taken and he'd be as quickly forgotten as he'd been noticed. Matthew's words rang through his mind again.

_"__The way to survive Heath, is to make those looking for trouble look straight though you. The hardest part is not looking like so low they think you too easy to not kick you, and yet to also look not so high up they think knocking you down will get them higher up themselves."_

Heath came to the hotel and pulled up. He dismounted, tied his prancing Modoc to the hitching rail, and rubbed the muscles under dark flank while speaking softly into velvet ears. Then he went inside. He almost didn't bother.

_I might as well have laid out my bedroll beneath the stars a few miles outta town. Woulda been safer._

He worried about leaving his Modoc too. With so many gunfighters and thieves about who reminded him not of Matthew at all, one or more were bound to notice the value of his horseflesh.

Heath decided to walk in, learn there were no rooms available, walk back out, and ride outta town. He strode through the hotel check-in area rifle at his side muzzle pointed to the floor, hand primed to bring it up fast and steady. When he was within less than a foot of finished wood, Heath lifted his chin to the man shaking behind the desk. "Evening."

The man stammered just slightly while also straightening his thin frame, "Good evening, sir."

Heath tilted his head toward the door he'd just entered through. "Doesn't look out there like you've got a room to rent."

The man straightened further. His eyes widened and sparkled. Then he nodded. "Oh, actually, young man, we do!"

Heath blinked. "You do."

The man nodded. "Oh yes, certainly. A room just became available."

For a moment Heath's natural curiosity got the better of him. "How did that come to happen?"

The man behind the desk swallowed. "Well, you see, the man who rented it in advance … passed away, before he could check in. A … a business associate of his let me know when he came by to claim his own room."

Heath raised an eyebrow. Then he glanced over his shoulder where a few more bullets were flying outside. When, he looked back to the man behind the desk he asked, "Did you learn if his recent 'passing' was peaceful?"

The clerk swallowed and replied in a clipped voice. "Not particularly."

Heath nodded, reached into his wallet, and dug out a few bills before laying them on and sliding them across the desk. "I'll take it."

**What did you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	18. Chapter 18

**I own nothing in this one except Matthew. :) Enjoy!**

Heath ran up the stairs, slipped his belongings inside his room, checked the lock on the door, and ran out again. He wanted to keep an eye on his Modoc. He'd return to his room, when those running wild outside returned to theirs, or moved on, or dropped in the streets passed out or even "passed away."

He didn't want the latter, but with all going on out here tonight, it was hard to not think it would happen. According to the man at the hotel, it already had. How many of their fellow gunslingers would these killers leave alive to take on the farmers and ranchers tomorrow? He was probably the only man alive who felt even a little bit sorry for them really. But even he wasn't going to let them have his horse. They'd been through too much together already.

Instead of standing beside said horse, Heath went to the establishment across the street. From a window there he could see his pony where he'd left it tied. Inside the building he watched from, amber fluid flowed, cards were passed around, and promises were shouted about what would happen tomorrow. There was an awful lot of talk about chasing men off their land, shooting sodbusters and ranchers down, and then collecting a lot of money for doing so.

Again, and again, the Barkleys came up. Which of them would lay low that middle Barkley brother? Would "getting" the oldest one even be worth bragging about after? Would any of them have the guts to kill the miss and missus of their ranch? Yeah, they were somthin. It'd be something to be proud of to teach em a lesson! Pass the drinks!

Heath clenched his jaw. He'd felt safer on the Barkley ranch. His fight would not be mainly be with family, but outlaws. Would that he had only one of these to fight. He'd never thought he'd had much of a chance, but to fight one and then turn around to fight the other … Heath sighed.

Thankfully, for now, most of these "visitors" to this valley had already found their drinking buddies, fellow card sharks, and preferred "business associates." Most had settled into their respective corners with before he'd arrived. So, they seemed content to leave him alone.

He stood by the window trying to resemble a granite peak with no gold in it, unwelcome and unpromising, as he kept an eye on his Modoc. Could he wait until his half-brothers, their mother, and even the fiery, younger lady Barkley had beaten these men back with their neighbors before waging his fight? Or should he try to find a strategy against these deputized, unrepentant killers himself now?

He'd listened into many a boast and counter-boast, when a piece of horseflesh to rival his own walked down the street and into view from the window. A tug of familiarity pulled at his mind. How did he know those legs, those hooves. That ... He leaned forward and stared through the glass, his blue eyes bulged.

_No! No! That arrogant, little fool!_

Just as he feared one man grabbed hold of the rider's leg. She turned to slap at his reaching arms. Then another man collided with her mount, and a third.

Heath turned and started fighting his way through the crowded bar room. He used his elbows, knees, and feet. He drew stares and shouts. He ignored those that came from behind. He kept his gaze locked on the door and his way to it. Then he was free. No on impeded his progress once he reached the street.

Three surrounded and clawed at the rider still flailing her strip of rawhide. Even after two had dragged her off the fine mount, the strap had driven them away momentarily. The third man from before began to weave his way toward the slinger's back. The one who'd shooed off her fine horse turned to help corner her. None even chased after the horse. They'd found something finer. It was four against one.

No. Four against two. Even Heath didn't like those odds, though.

Another of Matthew Bryant's sayings came back to him. _"Boy, always know if the pot is worth risking the contents of your pockets for. Never let pride or arrogance make you starve. Few respect such a corpse."_

There was no way he'd risk losing this fight though or not joining in it. He saw a moment both sets of two attackers stepped back to breathe and maybe plan their next attack. He dove through the middle.

He grabbed the rider around her waist. He had to keep himself and her moving. The hotel was in front of them. A horse bumped into them both. It wasn't going too fast, probably an accident. It might block them momentarily from reach and sight, but they still had to keep movin!

He kept his arms around the rider, placing her back to his front, pushing her ahead of him, through the lobby, and up the stairs. He pulled her aside and stepped out of the way of two drunks coming down. As soon as they wobbled past, he pushed her up before him again. Then he pulled her along and pushed her ahead of him down the hall.

He opened the door with one hand and thrust her through it with the other. Then turned to put his whole weight into shutting that door behind him. He locked it. It didn't mean they were safe, but they were safer than they had been before.

A soft, deep breath broke the stillness of their shelter. Then a soft, gasp followed, "I'm hurt."

Heath looked to his little sister and spat out "Hurt nothin! You're lucky you're not dead, you little fool! What were you doing out there?"

He paced to and then glanced out the window. He couldn't see nearly enough from there. He could see "inside" his room a torn open shirt. One side was open baring Audra's undergarment. On the same side, her sleeve was torn open baring an arm strangely tan for a lady's. Gleaming blood ran down it.

Yeah, she was hurt. And she needed that cleaned. He doubted whoever had dug into her like that cared if "cleanliness was next to godliness."

He strode back to the water pitcher, poured a little out into the basin, and began to open a drawer. Then he realized the other figure in the room had remained silent instead of answering his question. He looked toward his little sister's back. He raised and deepened his voice. "Well?!"

She finally glanced over the shoulder of her injured arm and spat "Nobody talks to me like that! Not ever!"

"No?"

She started to snarl, but it became an exclamation. "No!"

He gestured back to the streets outside the window. "Try them."

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	19. Chapter 19

**I own nothing as far as I know. **

**Here, enjoy, please don't sue as I make no money and only write for love of this story and my fellow fans enjoyment.**

Heath continued gathering up and preparing what they needed. He couldn't leave it too long or the infection might "take." If only he had some iodine. A softer, "almost" apologetic voice came from behind him as he continued his rummaging. "I heard my brothers talking about it, what was in town, and I wanted to see."

A fire flared up inside his stomach. His ma would have worked and starved herself for days to get the safety several devoted men and iron gates gave the Barley ladies at their ranch. He'd heard the men in the Barkley's bunkhouse declaring they'd blow the heads off any man who attacked Audra or her mother. The men in the bar he'd just left had bragged about what they'd do to the Barkley ladies after all such defenders were dead.

Now, here she was in his hotel room her living defenders were miles away. Just outside, dozens of men were slathering for her. He strode around the sought-after occupant of his room with the makings of a bandage. She spoke as he walked by. "You don't believe me."

"Sit down."

He sat on the bed and began to tear up what he'd found in the drawer. Her voice came from above his bent head. "You're a rough one, aren't ya?"

He looked up at her. Her whole demeanor had changed. She'd been hunched over before. Her form had been curled in around her bleeding arm. Then she'd raised her chin and head to snap at him, challenge him, declare herself beyond his words of condemnation.

Now, she held her head level and stared at him with her gaze smoldering. Her body was relaxed and open before him. Her voice was not a whine, not a shout of outrage. She sounded … friendly.

Heath felt his soul retreat into his mind to figure this out. _What happened here just now?_

Audra watched him still waiting for a reply. What could he say? He wasn't a rough one? He was?

He nodded just barely. "Crossed a few hills." Then he went back to doing what he "knew" to do, bandage that bleeding arm.

He started turning the cloth in his hands into strips. She didn't seem to notice. Audra went on as if she was in no danger from potential infection or the army of outlaws outside. The only sign she was aware of the "hurt" she'd openly complained of earlier was how she held her arm out so he could better see it. Her smoldering smile, easy mannerisms, and soft tone said she didn't feel them, though.

"That's what I've always wanted to do. See places like you have. Do what I want no matter whatever!"

Her bleeding arm moved as he tried to clean it. Heath grit his teeth. "Hold still."

She went on as if joy bubbled up inside her. "My brother Nick, he takes nothing from anyone."

Now her words broke through into his private mind. He could still feel his cuts and bruises from her brother. He glanced up. "You're telling me."

She wiggled again. His jaw clenched, but he kept silent. His words had no effect anyway. So, he'd just keep working and listening to her in silence. She obliged him. "That's how I'd like to be. My father was like that."

Heath's insides roiled. _I bet he was …_

Audra gave another sniffing sound like a laugh. "My mother thinks I'm shameless. Jarrod says I'm spoiled. Nick …" She'd looked up and away at the ceiling as she spoke, most definitely letting her mind travel away from their danger. "He understands."

Heath wanted to add another term to those she'd just listed, "dreamy." She was far too much in her world of dreams and away from the real one to live as she said she wished. A mine would collapse on her. A river would wash her away. A storm would catch up to her. A mountain cat would pounce upon her. A shooter would blast her away from cover. He could think of a variety of ways he'd almost died either because his mind hadn't been taking in his surroundings or he "would" have died if he hadn't been alert and moved in time.

Right now, he wanted to carry her back to that ranch she wanted to travel away from and lock her in until she learned not to do fool things like dream when danger surrounded her. He stayed silent though. A non-brother would not treat her like her far-future was any of his business.

He was a good-Samaritan to her now. Nothing else. She didn't know. He wanted to keep it that way, for now. He realized he'd let his own mind wander when her next words startled him.

"You're like Nick."

He looked back up. What? Like that man who led a ranch, who defended his father's honor with his fists, raised voice, and threats. Who took nothing from nobody?

Maybe the latter, but quite often he didn't slug other men out and order them to leave. A free man with no land had one power, if he still had the use of his legs, still more of it if he had a horse, and yet more if he had a horse or even just his legs "and" provisions he could carry. He could leave.

A lot of his travels had been because instead of taking something from someone to stay, he'd just left. Now he had a lady in his room with men outside wanting to draw her blood and take even more from her. Now he had to do a little travelin to get her to safety or betray everything his mama, Hannah, Paul and others had tried putting into him all those years. Their lessons were not at all convenient right now, but they were more than a certain gambler and gunman had been given by those he'd grown up among. Matthew had appreciated them giving him more than he'd been given in his early life.

Audra should learn someday to be grateful for those who'd done the same for her, and even more because they could. They would care for her, once he got her back to them. Then he could go back to fighting them for what was rightfully his without worrying she'd become a victim of those claiming it too. He better start trying to herd her in that direction now.

There was not much more he could do for her here, when he got this bandage on. He raised his own voice in a friendly, but _just_ friendly way. "Some guy really put his fingernails into you. Get some soap to that when you get home, you hear?"

A smile spread over her whole face. Held-in laughter warmed her voice. The sparkle in her eyes teased him as she spoke. "Is that where you're taking me, home?"

He studied her. Her dreamy nature really had run away with her. He had to fence her in, or rather_ out,_ now. He had to get her back to reality, which meant getting her back to Barkley manor. Her brothers would shout over her wounds and torn open shirt and then into his face. His Indian pony would have to get him away fast. Still, he'd rather face that than this.

His own sister was trying to get him where no other woman had thanks to the influence of his mother and several other righteous, _and _less than righteous, folk. He'd gone far a time or two, maybe too far for righteousness' sake, but the line he had kept ended waaaaay before giving into his little sister on this. "Yeah, I think we've both had ours for the night."

His in fighting and worrying her, remembering too much. She in getting in the middle of a pack of wolves and paying for it in blood, very little, but still. Even if she was hiding it in a desire to be like her brother Nick and her … "their" father, she had to be shaken. He'd seen too many truly shaken by such things and some who'd tried to hide it to be so fooled.

She just looked back at him with an even more coy gaze. Her tone also upped the ante. "Have we?"

Something twisted in his gut. He wondered if the instinct might be more than good-Samaritan concern. He'd felt the latter for a lot of women over the years. He'd seen too many rushing off to do what would get them treated like his ma had through the following years. Where were Jarrod, Nick, and Eugene? Shouldn't "they" be concerned about her right now? Still, in her eyes he was just "Heath." So, he'd act like plain ole good Samaritan Heath for now.

He gave a slow smile. "I guess you know where you are?"

She answered him with shining eyes and drawling voice, "Alone, in a room, with a man. First time."

Alarm bells went off in Heath's head. His mind traveled back. He'd seen girls in the camp and other places before their expected "first time." He'd even heard other girls speak of it later.

They often lowered their eyes, blushed, giggled. He used to think they must have a fever, or some sort of disease, when he was a young kid. They had seemed fidgety, even "twitchy," to him. Most were uncertain. They had seemed both excited and afraid, breathless. Sometimes they glowed with hope if they believed themselves in love and loved at the time. They thought it then the beginning of something that would last forever even if they were later proved wrong.

Audra wasn't lookin any of those things now. She wasn't fidgeting, looking down, or blushing. She looked straight at him still and smooth. She was acting "shameless" staring at him that way while ignoring all the dangers outside. She should have been planning a way to sneak out of town right now if what these men wanted to do to her would be her "first time." If she couldn't it would then also likely become her "last."

She wasn't making this hard for him at all. And all for a man she'd just met that afternoon at her father's grave. Why should that make her so eager for _him_ of all …

Like the safety sliding back on a gun, something clicked in Heath's mind.

She leaned forward right into the air his body warmed, warming it more with her own. He remained motionless. Her voice hummed around him. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there? To run, and talk, for love …"

He waited to see how far she'd go. Did she notice his frosty exterior yet? No? Why not?

Silly girl dreaming off in her own mind rather than noticing her surroundings. Her lips were almost pressed to his when he stopped her. He hoped doing so would further teach her about taking note of her surroundings before stepping into a trap. "To test your brother." She froze. He continued "Isn't that what you're doing?"

She reacted about the way a trapped animal would. "Liar! Lies!" Her hands came up to hit him just like they had at their father's grave, just the way they had toward the men outside.

He smiled. This was Audra. This was his sister. And boy was he relieved!

Everything else had been a sham. She didn't want him. And if she did want to be like Nick, well boy howdy, she was. A fighter, all the way through. She just might make it out there if only she didn't let her guard down and tried to fight rather than lie her way out of things.

Nonetheless, he didn't want to be a target for her flailing hands. He grabbed her wrists and tried to hold her back from his face and chest. Once he took care of his immediate safety, he could appreciate things even more. "I'll say one thing for that old bear. He bred em wild! "

"All of it, all the things you told them were lies!"

That stung. He had been angry with her brothers, but he actually liked her. And she thought him a con-man. Her father was perfect in her eyes, so he had to be a skunk.

This seemed one more thing his father had taken from him his chance to be something in her eyes as a man or even just as a brother. It hurt. This fine, wild thing thought him lower than mud. And he wasn't.

He was just as much as her brothers just as much as Thomas Barkley, just as "rough" as Nick, just as wild as her, just as much a proud, hard man as _him_. Even if he wanted to spit on his grave instead of plant flowers on it everyone was gonna know he was Tom Barkley's son. Everyone who'd heard the name and wanted the chance to blow the head off a "Barkley," work for a "Barkley," or take a bullet for a "Barkley" was gonna have to call him one too.

His voice was between a shout and a snarl. "Well I don't fancy his breeding miss, and it's no pride I got in him for a daddy, but it's a proud name and its mine. And I'm gonna wear it and boy howdy, people are gonna look up to me just like they do your brothers and everything that's Barkley, I'm gonna be too."

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	20. Chapter 20

**I do not own any of "Big Valley's" characters, plots, or pretty much anything else that was part of the show.**

Wet, blue eyes looked up at him. Audra's form wilted in his hands like a decaying flower. His little sister looked at him as if he could collapse her whole world like a mine tunnel.

Heath ground his teeth. What was wrong with her? Did it matter "that" much? Did just speaking the truth have to hurt her "that" much?!

What "should" have been worrying her the whole time burst through the door. Two men stared at his sister. Both looked liquored up. Both were dressed in well-worn clothes. Neither looked well-trimmed. Likely, neither thought they'd gotten a fair shake of "the finer" things in life. Heath could relate. However, Heath ground his teeth further as he saw the glow in their faces. He thought he could read their minds. Both likely thought "Audra" was their chance to finally enjoy a "finer thing in life."

One of the men spoke the other. "I told you, man." His voice changed, lowered and filled with derision. Heath knew he was now speaking to him. "Out boy, this is work for men."

Heath's fists clenched.

. . .

Laundry was considered work for women. His mother did it. At the end of her day, her head bowed, back bent, and she groaned in the night. She was careful not to complain before customers, though.

Heath followed her about as she collected others laundry. Often, he played and sometimes panned in the same river she washed it in. This day was no different, up to that moment …

There was a man, with not the best reputation, sitting smoking outside his tent. Pieces of laundry were scattered around him. Heath noticed his mother's face fall as she approached him. She spoke softly and kindly to him, though without a taste of hope in her words. "I'm here to pick up your laundry."

He leaned further back where he sat, grinned, and swept an arm out to gesture to his surroundings. "Have at it …"

Leah sighed. Heath burned. When he began to help her, the man cleared his throat and blustered, "Boy, don't help with that! That's women's work!"

Some children Heath played with chuckled around him. Heath paused, straightened, and blushed. The warmth only made the summer heat worse. Heath even turned away for a while and leaned against a post some hitched their beasts of burden too. He had turned back in time to see what happened next, though.

His mother had picked up everything scattered around the lounging man. She turned to go. Then, he spoke up from behind her. "Hey, you're forgetting something."

Leah looked over her shoulder. Her son just looked straight at the man. Their customer reached up to his throat and undid the knot of his bandana. He crumbled it into a wad in one hand. Then he threw it so it landed just a few feet in front of him. "Get that too."

Heath's shoulders hunched. His whole body tightened. His eyes narrowed, and face burned hotter still.

Leah only sighed and let her shoulders fall. Then she walked toward the wad of cloth. The man lifted his face toward her. His calm, wide smile became more obvious.

Heath saw his mother pause and stiffen before continuing with more wooden movements. Heath knew she was embarrassed, maybe disgusted, maybe afraid. Heath dug his fingernails into the wood of the post and stayed where he was. If he moved closer to her, it might just bring more attention from others to the situation. His frame grew tenser and face redder. His eyes narrowed more at the man.

Leah came even with the wad of cloth. After a nervous glance at the man it belonged to, she took another step to be beside rather than in front of the wad. She bent her knees rather than her back to reach it. That was when it happened.

The man, who looked so slow and stupid, sprang like a stout cat. His arms latched around Leah's middle. He lifted her while laughing.

Heath's mother screamed and began to struggle. The man holding her laughed again. Others around them laughed too. Some glared. A few widened their eyes and covered their mouths.

Only Heath moved. "Get your hands off her!" He sprang at the man's right arm. He latched onto it with his fingernails and his open jaws. Blood wet his teeth as the man threw him and his mother away with a roar.

Both Leah and Heath landed only to spring to their feet. They rushed toward their tent. From the sound of his roar, the man was following them. Leah had no basket and no clothes, only her own skirts, in her hands.

Heath knew that would mean emptier stomachs for a while, but he continued rushing onward beside her. They both only slightly wavered and broke stride as they went over and around things and people in their way. In a crowded mining camp, most lay, sat, and walked too close to each other for anyone's comfort. From the sounds coming from behind them, the man following them wasn't being nearly as careful as they were about it.

They reached their tent. Maybe that man knew about his mother's gun, but not that it wasn't loaded. The sounds coming from him grew fainter. It was then Leah looked up at her son with wide, blue eyes. "Heath! Don't do that! You mustn't do that ever again!"

Heath saw the fear in her eyes, and also in her clenched teeth and the strained skin of her face. But, he stood up on his knees, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists as he shouted back, "I have to mama! There isn't anyone else here to protect you!"

. . .

_There isn't anyone else here to protect you …_

Heath thought this while looking back at the two men in his hotel room with his only sister standing at his side. Both men were looking at her as others had once looked at his mother in the camp. These two were only the first of many with the others still outside.

Her other brothers were miles away. So were the men not related to her but devoted to her safety in honor of her father's memory. Heat flashed through Heath. He clenched his fists. Audra would not be hurt in his own hotel room even if he was the only brother and cowboy there to protect her. After all, he had grown up his mother's only son.

**What do you think? Feel free to tell me. ****?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	21. Chapter 21

**I own nothing of Big Valley! Please enjoy reading anyway. :)**

The man who'd spoken began to edge around the bed toward Audra. Heath grabbed his rented lamp, cocked his arm back, and threw. As Heath knew he would, the man going for Audra dodged the lamp, but the window behind him couldn't. Heath was pleased to see how much glass disappeared as the lamp flew through it.

Now his sister had an escape route other than the door the second man still stood in front of. Not to mention, her gloved hands could grab a shard of glass. That could make quite a weapon.

As if she'd read his mind, Audra ran to the window. The man who'd dodged Heath's lamp didn't go after her. His friend did. The man who'd dodged his lamp came at Heath. He was quicker than he looked.

As Heath watched the glass disappear and his sister's dash to escape, the man pounced. He punched Heath. Heath fell back onto the bed. The man kept after him not letting him recover.

Heath wondered after how the fight may have ultimately gone. However, he knew he and Audra should be grateful the Sheriff and deputy came in at that moment. He had a mixture of feelings in that moment, though.

_Great … _Two of the most important men in the town, valley, area … found him and Audra in a "room." Before the two yahoos had come in, he and Audra had been "alone" together in here as she'd pointed out. How would that look? Not as if he were her brother. Heath caught sight of her torn shirt again and wanted the freedom to sigh.

However, the other man had grabbed her, and let go at the appearance of the lawmen. Heath's muscles loosened as he watched that. Audra moved less and more stiffly under the eyes of the sheriff. The lawman strode over to the man who'd grabbed her and yanked him away from her. She seemed more afraid of the sheriff than the two men or their fellow gunslingers outside hired to cut down her brothers.

The older man's words told him why. Even tone made him seem like her kin. "I'll let you explain to your family Miss Barkley. They can explain to me."

The man's eyes now rested on him. Heath didn't know if he wanted to sigh or growl, but figured he'd better do neither. The sheriff then looked away and began to walk her out without giving him a second look. Heath grit his teeth and got off the bed, his face still swelling.

_I'm not letting them go out there alone even if he "is" the law. With a prize like her behind him, things could "still" get ugly quick. Specially if this lawman had already been bought off._

Thankfully, the sheriff was smarter than he looked, and Audra was almost "meek" before him. He grabbed a blanket from somewhere and draped it over her. They were almost out of town before she tossed it aside to show herself off to the darkness. Heath shook his head.

At that moment, the Sheriff turned around. In the last bit of light from town, Heath could see the lawman pin him with a look. "You following us all the way to the Barkley's?"

Audra answered before Heath had a chance to think. "Course he is! He's got a job at the ranch."

_I doubt my work is still wanted there, lil Sis._

The Sheriff shrugged and looked ahead again. Heath noticed him making an effort to keep his horse close to Audra's. At the gunfire behind them still coming from town, it occurred to Heath a man in the dark beside the road might be able to pick out Audra's fair hair in the moon and starlight and shoot at it, thus ridding themselves of a Barkley. He rode over to ride on Audra's other side. He didn't care what the Sheriff thought.

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	22. Chapter 22

**I own nothing from "Big Valley!" Please, read and enjoy anyway in the hopes those who do won't mind. I love what they own so much and sell it not since I make no money from this, just try to add to their foundation in a different form for fellow fans enjoyment.**

Audra pulled a little away from the Sheriff and Heath for a moment before stopping her mount. They both rode up and paused on either side of her. She turned a smile only upon the lawman, though. "We're all right from here, Sheriff, thank you."

The older man tipped back his hat and stared across her saddle horn at the man still hemming Audra in on her other side. He addressed the youngster in a tired, knowing voice. "You're new at the Barkleys' aren't ya?"

_Fastest hiring and firing they ever did, I imagine._

Audra looked to Heath and then back to the lawman. She gave the latter an uncertain smile and slightly strained voice. "Well, he saw me ride out and came after me."

The sheriff's gaze left the still and silent man beside her, to meet Audra's for a moment. "So, you said Miss." The Sheriff then looked back to the younger man. "What's your name?"

Audra looked to the man in question. Heath gazed at the Sheriff trying to figure out what he was fishing for. He wanted to hear how Audra might answer too. She'd already lied about who had followed who, and about his still having a job at the Barkley ranch by omission. While he waited, Audra jumped in for him again. "Heath."

She turned that brilliant smile upon the Sheriff once more, but his expression and voice said he was hardened to it. "Heath what?"

The younger man looked to Audra Barkley. _Yeah, little sister ... Heath what?_

The young woman looked away into the darkness, and her face changed. The Sheriff looked that way too, and so did his. Heath glanced a little bit ahead and saw what they did.

Fire, fire in a dry time of the year and a lot of it. The Sheriff answered the question that jumped to his mind. "That's Swenson's place!"

And they took off. Heath remembered during the ride he'd been hearing a lot about "The Swenson Place" along with that of the Barkleys that night in the bar. He ground his teeth at himself now. Maybe if he'd been listening as much to that talk as to that about his father and his own ranch, he could have been at Swenson's and stopped those flames from ever shooting into the sky.

. . .

Audra pulled ahead of the two men. She knew the way better than the younger, and rode a faster horse than the older. Heath knew if he let his Modok break a leg in the dark, he wouldn't even be able to catch up to her if she needed aid once they reached "Swenson's place."

By the time they arrived, the fire was mostly out. The structure that had burned looked like it used to be a house. There was a stone wall left and burning timbers low to the ground showing where three other walls used to be. Nearly every man there was blackened by a coating of soot. One notable exception was the driver of a buggy with an old lady in it, her silver hair curled around and atop her head like a regal mountain. Blue eyes gazed on in sorrow. Lips were pursed in the same.

Heath stared at her a moment before looking back to a man surrounded by the three others whose living room he'd spent part of his evening in talking about their shared father. They huddled around the hunched, silver-haired gentleman with a furrowed face like he was a relative in mourning. Maybe he was.

"Swenson" spoke with a growl. "They came, just came, with guns and torches, hollering out like wolves. And I just stood there aside and watched em do it."

A shorter, stockier man, also soot-blackened, spoke up. ""Well not at my place. I'll be hanged if I have to pay for what I own."

He began striding toward "Swenson" and the Barkley men around him. The stocky man took out a folded, official looking document from his pocket and looked into Jarrod's face. "But I got a paper here says I gotta do just that by eight-o-clock in the mornin or have my place took out from under me!"

The speaker strode past them and approached the Sherriff who'd been sweeping his gaze over things. The lawman turned to him as he approached. The farmer spoke directly to him. "Well, I ain't." The speaker then turned to address the crowd surrounding them. "Ya hear! I ain't! Who stands with me?" He raised his arm, papers still clutched in his hand. And there was silence.

Oh, a few flames still crackled. Man and beast shifted a bit. So, the ruffling of clothing and jangling tack was also heard, but no voices spoke up, no feet moved.

Then Nick looked over his shoulder. He glanced around, saw no one else was moving, and moved anyway. He took long, certain strides up to the speaker's side.

Then the Sheriff moved too. He strode up to both of them to denied the truth right in front of him. "No one stands with you, Frank!"

Heath wanted to scoff, but didn't even smile. He'd learned the hard way not to show he was breathing in a crowd and situation like this unless he'd "really" decided he wanted to get involved. His form, face, and throat did not move this time. He just continued to watch.

He listened to the lawman continuing along the same track with the truth this time. "I'm sorry. But legally, after tomorrow, the land's no longer yours."

"Frank" looked to the brother Audra most wanted to be like. He looked like he wanted the man's spunk, strength, and fighten spirit on his side. "Nick."

Perhaps, seeing he already had help there, and wanting more, Frank turned from Nick and strode over to the cleanest-cut Barkley. "Jarrod ..." Frank then turned to the youngest brother to include him too, "Eugene, listen! Six years ago your daddy and mine died fighten for this, because your daddy said fighten was right."

The sheriff stepped in again. "And what did it gain ya, anyone of ya? Your father, yours, and ten others dead. Six years of false hope. I bow to no man in my regard for Tom Barkley, but he was only a man. He couldn't take on a giant and win anymore than you, or you, or you, or any man!" He raised his voice at the last. Then he continued in a sorrowful tone. "So, worship him, pray for him, but follow him, and you follow a dead man to his grave."

Heath thought even his ma, who he knew had been in love with the great Thomas Barkley till her dying day, would have argued against worshiping him like he was God, though not against praying for him. The part of Heath's mind that remembered their pastor and his talks with ma and Hannah, told Heath part of the sheriff's speech was pure blasphemy. The same part of Heath's mind also told him the lawman's whole speech, along with the gospel, took one to interesting conclusions. Jesus you could follow out of the grave and straight to heaven the Good Book said. Thomas Barkley, the sheriff said, one could just follow to the grave. What did everyone here believe in?

Heath watched the fight go out of "Frank." The man wilted like a plant after being touched by a hard frost. Then he looked up brokenly at one of Tom Barkley's proud sons. "That true? What he says? Your daddy gave us nothin? No way to fight? Never did?"

He looked at the lawyer, and Jarrod said nothing. So, Frank turned and walked away into the smoke. Nick turned to stare after him.

A certainty boiled up in Heath hotter than steam. _Your daddy gave you nothin, never did. Not while he was alive. Not now. He never gave "anybody" anything!  
_

And Heath turned his Modok around and rode off.

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	23. Chapter 23

**I own nothing. **

**Thank you to the reviewer who noticed and pointed out an error I didn't know about in dialogue. :)**

_It had been foolish of him. It had been foolish to ever think any of this could belong to him._ These were his thoughts as Heath rode over land he'd let himself fall in love with only that day.

He knew he could have worked it. He knew he could have mended its fences. He knew he could have rounded up its strays, worked alongside its men, and watered it with his sweat. How could he have ever thought though, his father's name could be anything to be proud of? How could he have thought he could even come within arms-length of something as good as this?

His mother might have thought so, but she had always been wrong about him, about Thomas Barkley, about everything. Her son had thought he could take on the world, or at least, this valley. Then he'd seen a neighbor crumple, his half-brothers fail to stand beside him, and heard both his siblings and their other neighbors come to the same conclusion he had long ago.

_Your daddy … "our" daddy, gave us "nothin."_

Well … that wasn't exactly true. He'd given his "known" family mines outside this valley. Heath himself was kinda proof of that. He hoped some of them were doing better than the one in "Strawberry." That would give his half-relations something to live off of now. He hoped Audra would be okay, and even his half-brothers. He was going back for what one of them had offered him. He would hold up his part of the bargain too. He didn't want to be called by Thomas Barkley's name anymore.

Heath rode back through the gate and up to the house, mansion, palace, whatever. Then he snuck in. If anyone asked, he no longer wanted to explain why he was there. He no longer wanted to claim the name that left people disappointed, tell the story of a good woman abandoned by Thomas Barkley. Everybody felt abandoned by him now, so no one would care.

Heath wasn't a fool. He knew nobody would cry over his mother in the midst of their own troubles, no one but him. He strode up to the shot glass on the table, fished the money stuck in our of it, and shook the bill off so the liquid seeped into it went flying. Then he tucked it into his pocket. He even drank the liquor left in the glass.

Heath didn't bother to look up at the portrait of Thomas Barkley looking down at him this time. He wouldn't look at the man dead or alive now. Broken promises. That was all Thomas Barkley was good for. Always had been.

Heath was more afraid of living eyes now, ones with mouths to ask what he was up to here. They couldn't pull the explanation he'd given Nick earlier out of him with ropes or chains this time. So, he wouldn't have anything to say at all.

Heath kept scanning the shadows as he passed through them. Then he spotted a bowl of fruit as he passed by. He stopped to give it a second look.

How many times had the other Barkleys enjoyed eating fresh fruit from Thomas Barkley's land? Why shouldn't he eat some just once? He'd never have the opportunity again.

Heath took off his hat to stuff it full of fruit. Then he felt eyes on him. _Oh no ..._He glanced over his shoulder.

There she stood, the woman from the carriage … Mrs. Thomas Barkley. He knew her now. She could be no other.

If the man in the portrait had looked like a president of the United States, she looked like a Queen of England. No white, gleaming hair was out of place on her head. No rumple showed on her fine clothing. Nor did her face show a line of worry, anger, or disgust. She gave no impression, but dignity.

He turned his back to her and continued taking fruit from the bowl. He was "not" in the wrong to do so. He'd just let her think he was.

"That" was the kindness he could do for her right now. Whether she showed it or not, she'd have a tough time of it soon enough, not as tough as his mother's whole life had been, but tough enough for Thomas Barkley's wife he was sure. Might as well not make it worse.

As he strode by, Heath glanced her way. Her eyes slid to the side to watch him go, but she didn't turn. He kept going. Then a voice, feminine, dignified, calm, stopped Heath short. "He was an imperfect man, my husband."

_What?_

"And in so many ways that could hurt."

Fury built up in Heath's chest as he turned back. _You know nothing about that._

She kept going. "But he never destroyed, only built and gave life."

_ Tell that to my mother!_

But the dignified lady was still going on, waxing more eloquent. "For he knew what he brought was a changing way a revolution of its own that said, you are a free man. No one, not railroad, not Jordan, nor Thomas Barkley can own you."

Heath's throat grew tight. He could still feel stares and blows given by, or by order of, those who had thought any man from nowhere who showed up looking for a job was looking to be owned.

As she continued, Heath kept listening. "And he knew it was something you only won through courage, pride, and leadership. That's what he tried to instill in his sons."

Words his mama wouldn't have liked went through Heath's head. That was what "he" held onto, what he tried to show everyone who looked. He didn't want "anything" in him to have also been a part of Thomas Barkley.

The woman turned to Heath as he continued holding her fruit. Was she going to say "anything" about that at all?

"If you hadn't ridden away tonight, you would have seen that he accomplished that."

_Wait … How? Had something changed "after" he left? Was that what this was about? She saw him ride off before things changed behind him, so now she had to reassure him her husband was all everyone had thought all this time? And where did that leave "him" now?_

She continued, "It's not a battle that can be won in a day, a year, or even ten."

_You got "that" right lady … _"He" knew all about that after his travels.

"And then one day he made a terrible, wretched mistake."

_Which one are you thinking of?_

Bitterness boiled up from Heath's stomach into his throat as he listened, and then dissipated when he heard the catch in her voice and saw the dampness of tears in her blue eyes. "He died, before anyone really understood."

Heath felt his heart actually being pulled toward the woman. His mother had cried many times. He'd wake up at the sound of her muffled sobs, sometimes, and stay still cause he knew she'd waited for him to fall asleep before letting herself do so. Sometimes, when all he could hear were the usual sounds of the camp beyond their tent, he'd just open his eyes to see hers leaking. He had thought that happened when she was just too exhausted to do any more. He always felt a little sick at the sight of tears wetting a woman's eyes or sound of them tightening a woman's throat now. His attention was more pointed at Victoria Barkley than ever, so her next words took him for a ride indeed.

"And so, if you were my son, I'd say, be proud."

For the first time since he'd really started listening, Heath moved. He couldn't help it. _She knew. She'd known. Since when? Since he'd yelled about it in her house? Before? And these were her words to him?_

"Because any son of my husband has a right to be proud!"

_Any son? Even his son by another woman? Even a son who'd never set foot on his land until today? "Any" son of her husband? Any?_

Victoria Barkley continued with mounting ferocity. "Live as he would live, fight, as he would fight, and no one, no one could deny you his birthright!"

_No one. Not Jordan? Not the railroad, not his other sons, or only daughter? Not you? She … she _wasn't_ trying to deny him it too? The only Barkley he didn't share blood with would welcome him in here?_

His own gaze was caught by her wet, blue eyes as she continued. "That is what I would say, if you were my son." He stared at her. He was frozen in place with a lump in his own throat.

_Her son … She'd said … "Her son …"_

**What do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	24. Chapter 24

**I'm afraid I own nothing here and am just playing with these places and character. I hope you and even the creators and owners of said properties can enjoy this story based on their work anyway. Here's hoping! :D (I make no money from this)**

Heath turned to go, and then turned back to look at Mrs. Barkley once more. Finally, he left. He put the fruit in his saddle bag and then mounted and rode out only a little way's before stopping. He wanted to take it back out and enjoy the fruit before it got too bruised. It was good, he wished he could keep his mind on that on how the fruit tasted. He couldn't.

Mrs. Barkley had looked at him with that look in her eyes he'd seen in his mother's before. Could she have faked it? He'd seen a lot of charlatans. He hadn't always been good at spotting them. He didn't "feel" or see or hear any warning signs from her though none he could or even couldn't put his finger on. But it just seemed impossible!

How could the woman Thomas Barkley had sworn to be faithful to take proof of his breaking that promise lightly? How, when all her children saw "threat," when they looked at him, she saw … her husband's son. How could she even imagine, for one moment, what she might say to him were he _hers?_

Heath pondered this as he chewed. It rather ruined the taste of the fruit for him. He was just aware of it enough to realize it really "was" good and aware enough of his own mind and appetite to know he wasn't enjoying it as much as he should be. Deep thinking and confusion tended to do that. To make himself feel better he shared a bit with his Modoc pony, just a bit, no more than was good for it and only from the fruits he knew did a horse no harm.

Heath was pretty sure his mount was untroubled by his rider's problems. Heath was pretty sure, as long as he took good care of the beast, what his last name was didn't matter to his Modoc. There was horse-sense for ya. Why couldn't people be that way?

Heath gave a sigh he wouldn't in the presence of any who also had two legs. Showing weakness to a horse was rarely a good idea, but in his experience, showing it to men, and some women, was worse. He didn't "think" he'd shown any to his brothers, sister, or Victoria Barkley, but she had seemed to show some to him. She still missed her husband. Even after learning, and apparently believing, he'd been unfaithful to her the pride she had in him, even while admitting he was imperfect, shone through her face and sounded in her voice.

Heath still felt jealous of her in her fine clothes, fine house, and even for the time she "had" spent with the man she loved for his mother who'd had none of that. But the bitterness was flowing away somehow. He had to get it back.

That thought, and a picture of his mother's face if she'd overheard it, jolted him even more awake. It was nearer morning than evening now, but he doubted he'd get any sleep tonight especially after "that" thought. Why did he "need" bitterness? To fight? Couldn't he fight for love, for this land, for … who else?

His mother? Had he been fighting for his mother? How? What would it benefit her if he hated the wife of the man she'd always loved? What would it benefit her if he hated his half-siblings? She was either in Heaven, beyond all that, as the pastor said, or she simply knew no more.

What had he been fighting for then? He recalled what Victoria had said about her husband that he brought an idea, a way of living that said, "You are a free man." He'd always tried to live that way. He tried to be on hand-shake level with those he worked for. He tried to show he was living up to his word, doing the work he promised to do for them, because he said he would, and not because they could threaten him into it. He could get behind the "idea," but did he want to for Thomas Barkley?

A new thought stiffened his backbone. If he left to spite Thomas Barkley, he'd be letting the man take this away from him. If he left because he was scared of what the railroad could do to him, he'd be letting "them" decide for him. And if he ran from his brothers, it would be the same.

A new thought occurred to him … His brothers … What if … What if Mrs. Victoria Barkley "was" playing him. What if she just wanted to throw one more gunman in on their side to protect her "real" sons, or even just give the other side another target to draw fire away from them? That made more sense than …

Well, what of it? Did it change anything? He still had something that was his, something to fight for, and suddenly Mrs. Victoria Barkley's words sounded in his mind like a dare. If he was a "Barkley" he'd fight and show it. "If" he was Barkley enough. He sure was.

**So, what da ya think? :D**

**God bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	25. Chapter 25

**I own nothing of Big Valley. I make no plans to make any money off of this. Please don't sue, but simply enjoy.**

Something else had occurred to Heath in the middle of the night as he ate the fruit in his hat besides the challenge Mrs. Barkley had laid down for him. As he chewed, Heath found he felt comfortable eating the fruit, not because his "father" had likely overseen the planting of the trees they came from on his own land, but because the woman, mother, of the house he;d taken them from had looked at him the way she had. Her not stopping him, her speaking to him, her looking at him that way, had made him feel like family. And he'd realized he was family.

Whether through the blood he shared with his siblings or the welcome of their, his, mother if she wanted him, because if she had meant it ... he wanted to be her son, there was no escaping he was family of the Barkleys. And family didn't just let family die.

If he stayed away on the morrow, while his brothers faced bullets, he'd lose more than a ranch. He'd be committing a sin. He couldn't do that to brothers, anymore than he could leave his aunt Rachel or Hannah in a house fire. They were kin. Shoot, even if his "uncle" and "aunt" were about to be killed, he'd feel guilty about turning away, despite what they'd done and hadn't done for his mother and him. How much less could he turn his back on Audra, the little, quiet, but feisty Eugene, the blowhard Nick who also had a hard fist and fine eye for horseflesh, the well-dressed, well-spoken Jared who loved peace but would fight?

Heath didn't know any of them well, but he was their family. He'd been trying to prove it ever since he came to this valley. Nothing could change it. What could change was what kind of family he'd be to them.

He'd gone back to the house burned down and found the missus and some others digging through the heap and asked where the next house to be like treated was. At their suspicious stares he said he'd said he'd been hired by the Barkleys yesterday and had to see Nick. Someone said they'd seen him last night with Audra and the sheriff and that was enough to make others give him directions.

Still it was a long ride. He pushed his Modoc to the limits to get there. The others were already there, all lined up on either side of a divide of dirt. Men on the porch of a house, in the hayloft of a barn, between the two. Men in the yard in a crowd. So many faces he'd seen the night before staring them down. Heath rode into their midst before turning his horse loose, perhaps remembering him or not recognizing him as one belonging to the farmers they didn't bother him until he sprinted to join the group he belonged to.

He was Thomas Barkley's son. He'd been a rancher, a fisher, a miner and many other things. He'd never though, been a hired gun to kill those who wouldn't be run off land they'd been promised and called theirs. He wouldn't be today.

It was like the war. Flashbacks of gunpowder and the booms of cannons and the screams of the dying flashed before his eyes. He held on enough to the current time though, to see the sheriff go down and Jarred freeze. He saw as he dodged behind a barrel other men fall on both sides. A man fell from the hayloft. The man they fought for fell to the ground. Heath's heart clenched. They'd made their stand and showed their intent. But even as the other side rode off, leaving bodies behind, he knew they'd lost this battle. How could this man's family, if he had no sons old enough to fight beside him, keep this piece of land now?

Then the woman came out and made it worse. She looked like a mother and he assumed she was and their were little ones somewhere not knowing yet their pa had died. But she did. She wailed over him.

Heath stared. Here was a man willing to die to provide when his had gone and left him. Both were cut down, but ... Why was he alive? His blood relatives didn't even want him.

_God ... can I exchange our lives? His for mine? He has a family, Lord. One he didn't ride off and leave, a place he fought for, a wife wailing for him. What have I got? Even if Aunt Rachel and Hannah are sad they've learned to live without me. I haven't even visited as much as I should. I'm a nobody, and my blood relatives will be happier if I stay that way rather than proclaim myself a Barkley._

He heard no words nor saw any sign from Heaven, so he turned and marched away. He sat down to get out what didn't help either really by giving answers, but did help calm his nerves. He'd learned to use it in the army much to his aunt, Hannah, and ma's disapproval. So he hadn't smoked much around them. He sure would now.

He'd have to roll it though, and that would prove hard. His hands shook like he knew they would, every time he remembered the war, every time he was surrounded by bullets flying around him, every time ...

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cigar. He'd never smoke a cigar. It ... it was being offered to him? He looked up.

Blue eyes, tan face, nice collar of a nice white shirt and crisp black of hat and hair and vest. Jarred. And behind him, grinning, actually grinning, was Nick. Why?

Acceptance. In each of their eyes he saw it. Acceptance. All he'd had to do was fight, not against, but beside them?

Warmth bubbled up in his heart like stew, nourishing and comforting, and he swallowed down on the emotion and forced the tears not to come to his eyes.

**What did you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	26. Chapter 26

**I own nothing and expect no payment, so please just read and enjoy. :)**

They stayed to bury the man, and despite his brothers' newfound acceptance, Heath had the same feelings as before. The little ones came out of the basement, which turned out to have been where they were hiding and cried. Their mother was a little quieter after her loud mourning tired her and then went about all the little things that had to be done with silent dutifulness and skill.

Jared talked of how news of this would spread and make a whole lot of politicians who had been backing the railroad nervous to keep doing so. Nick seemed strangely subdued. Maybe he was just tired. Heath stood by the fresh grave with them and their neighbors keenly aware he was the stranger there. He said nothing of all the things he'd been obsessed about saying next to another grave. No one asked him questions. Everybody seemed focused on the dead man, which he thought was how it ought to be.

Then they road home, or rather Nick and Jared road home. He followed them … at a distance. He wasn't trying to hide from them, he kept just about four lengths of distance between his Modoc and Jared's steed while Nick led the way on his Modoc. This kept him from making his presence obvious though. Neither brother said a thing.

Then, even before they reached the gate, Audra came running out to meet them and shouted "Heath!"

Both brothers ahead of him turned their heads as she rushed right past them, arms open wide, big smile concentrated on him. Heath froze. His eyes stared down at her as she rushed up and grabbed his ankle above the stirrup. Her sun-bright smile shone up at him. "You came back!"

Heath had nothing to say back to that, so he just blinked down at her. Nick did though. "We're alive and back too! Thanks for noticing Audra!"

Then Mrs. Barkley came out. "Boys!" The three men's attention switched to her and she practically floated under it. "You're all three back, and … Oh, Jared, what happened to you arm?"

Jared smiled down at her with his brows partly drawn down and a drawl in his voice on the darker side. "As Nick says, 'nice of you to notice, mother.'"

Audra looked back to her brothers, finally … well full brothers, Heath admitted to himself. "Well, of course, I'm glad your okay. But I knew you'd come home either way! But Heath just disappeared and we didn't know where he'd got to!"

"We?" Jared's eyebrows rose.

Heath looked up at them, swallowed and said, "Your mother knows."

Both other men froze, and Mrs. Barkley said, "Yes, and she might know quite a bit more than you do on the matter. Everyone come in, oh Jarred let me have a look at that arm, and Heath, I know your fond of that horse but let our stablehands see to it while we all go in and talk."

Heath in a daze of not taking his eyes off her, let a stablehand do just that his body dropping down from the saddle. The reins seemed to slip from his hands as the other man took him. He just glanced as his Modoc was led away. The horse seemed to have no concerns whatsoever about the man leading him away, so Heath looking at the man's back and seeing his casual, self-assured stride at just the mounts side neither hanging back nor trying to drag the horse let em go and followed the other Barkleys into the house. Nick was now yelling, all the subduedness of the funeral apparently gone, but Mrs. Barkley didn't even look back at him.

She came strode into the house led them to a couch and chairs surrounding a low table on which a silver tea sat with, Heath imagined, tea, and he hoped, coffee, along with some grub in smaller portions than he woulda liked, but he didn't feel like complaining then. Mrs. Barkley looked back to him with a smile. "Please, sit." She gestured to the chairs and sofa. As Heath glanced over the options, Nick thundered "Now, mother ..!"

Mrs. Barkley then looked to him, "Nick, sit down!"

He did, on an end of the sofa. Jarred sat next to him. Mrs. Barkley sat on a chair and Audra perched on an arm of her chair. Heath kept glancing at everyone, Audra was staring back at him with now sad eyes and he made a quick decision gently lifting his chin and addressing the lady of the house. "I think, I'd just prefer to remain standing for now, thank you kindly ma'am."

Mrs. Barkley turned to her sons. "Now, I think its time we had a talk, I've already spoken to Eugene and he's up in his room now."

No one seemed to think that strange, so Heath decided not to either. He glanced at Audra still looking serious and sad and wondered if she'd been "talked to" as well. Mrs. Barkey continued. "And I have to say, Jarred, I don't like how you tried to handle things."

"Mother I …"

She raised a hand and he went silent. "I think when as serious a claim like this is made the whole family should be brought in and allowed to consider it together."

Nick rose form the couch like a grizzly to its hind feet. "What claim?! He …"

Mrs. Barkley's eyes sharp as bullets seemed to turn to and bore into him. "Nick!"

He lowered himself back to the couch under her gaze. Heath raised his eyebrows. She went on. "Now, I thought I'd made something plain to you or your own memories of him would …" Everyone, including Audra seemed to straighten in their seats and even Heath straightened where he stood at those words. Mrs. Barkley went on, "But your father was not a perfect man, a great ne, but not a perfect one. He had a temper, he had temptations …"

Nick got up again, but just as he opened his mouth his mother snapped in a dangerous voice "Sit down!"

He did, but Heath could see the steam rising from him like a train's stack. Mrs. Barkley went on in a quieter voice. "So rather than dismissing the claim out of hand I think we should hear the man and his evidence out."

"We did mother …" Jarred spoke ina calm voice. "I … I didn't think it was enough to warrant calling you in."

Victoria nodded. "Well then, you don't remember your father's younger days well … or maybe it was the beard."

Jarred's eyes narrowed and lips pursed in confusion. Nick turned his head away with a growl, but only Audra spoke. "What do you mean mother?"

Victoria continued in a somewhat sad, but also musical voice. "I don't think I ever told you boys this, but 'I' always wanted a boy, when you were born, with his father's light hair and eyes, and I got closest with you when it came to the eyes, Jared, but you all had my side of the family's dark hair, except you Audra. And for obvious reasons though your looks reminded me of his side of the family, you still could not be called his mirror image."

Audra gave a soft chuckle and looked down as her cheeks started to warm and Heath saw a shine in her eyes. But Mrs. Barkley looked to him as she continued. "But Heath …" Her eyes swam in tears and her voice finally sounded choked. There was a pause as something seemed to catch in her throat. Then she went on on what seemed a different track. "You might recall, Jarred and Nick, when I first caught sight of him outside the window, I went to my room. I didn't want you to see me break down …" She began to right there as the teas threatened to slip down, "Because I thought I saw your father!"

Audra's head shot up and she looked at him. And Heath felt frozen like cloth left out in a frost. He glanced at his brothers. Jarred looked from his other to him his blue eyes steadily going wider. Nick wasn't looking at him at all, but had his gaze focused ahead as his face went purple.

Audra broke in "None of you asked me … well Jarred did, but I lied …"

Her two brothers on the couch snapped their heads to look at her, she continued "Why I made the … the stupid choice to go to town last night … I went to test him."

Mrs. Barkley sat up in her seat. Audra continued "I … I just thought I would see … what he would do and know in my own mind, that was that. But it didn't work out that way …"

Nick shot to his feet and Mrs. Barkley did the same to reach out and grab his arm. Nick's chest was heaving now and his eyes looked ready to kill. Heath found himself unfrozen enough to lean back. "Yeah, that's how I thought you'd react to that story."

Audra bounced to her feet and shouted, "Nick nothing happened! He saved my life!"

Both Nick and Jarred snapped their gazes back to her. Mrs. Barkley tried to make the moment of silence count. "I think … as Audra's pointed out in her own way … what we need to ask ourselves is if he's behaved like a Barkley."

"Now wait just a second!" Nick bellowed and Heath thought the house shook. "Any man can act anyway for a day or more, but that doesn't mean ..!"

"Very few men," Victoria stated calmly, all tears gone now, "Fight for something the way he has. He not only has his father's looks; he has his spirit. And any son of my husband is welcome here and welcome to as much of the ranch as he can work with his own two hands."

And Heath turned his back on them all and clenched his fists as Nick continued to thunder on, but then he bolted. Nick went silent enough for him to hear Audra shout behind him. "Heath!"

**So what do you think?**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	27. Chapter 27

**Read and enjoy with no cost to you or financial benefit to me, because I own nothing of these fine characters and places. I hope those who do enjoy it too and don't sue!**

Heath was riding through Barkley land when Audra rode up behind him. "Heath!"

He sighed and turned his mount around. The sun was going to sink behind the horizon too, and Heath knew it was a bit late to head to town without risking all of his Modoc's legs, again, but he still hadn't turned back to the house. Audra caught up and pulled up her own mount. Then she leaned forward and asked the questions burning in her eyes. "Why did you leave the house, Heath?"

"I can't be like him."

"Like who?"

"Your father."

Audra sat up in her saddle and looked offended, though not as offended as he'd expected. He turned his Modoc back around and began to ride away from the house again, but at a walk this time. She urged her horse to fall in beside his. "Well, no one asked you to."

"The only reason I'm welcome there is, 'I'm just like him.' Well, I'm not."

"Heath, all of us are like Pa in some way! Jared's got his eyes. Nick's got his temper." Audra gave a deep chuckle. "I got both. Even 'Eugene has his stubbornness,' Mama says."

Heath silently counted off the qualities she listed trying to find one he lacked. He didn't quite have "Nick's" temper, but from the heat rising under his skin he could 't deny he had one. That was the part that kept gnawing at his stomach and mind. He couldn't "deny" any of the things they listed off about him that made him obviously Thomas Barkley's son, and couldn't admit he was like the man whose name made him sneer. While he wanted what was his, he …

"Why did you come here, Heath?"

If she hadn't asked just then, he might not have been so honest, but as it was ... "To win."

His sister raised her head with a bit of a jerk. "Win what?"

"My part of all this, from all of you, not be given it."

Her brows furrowed above her blue eyes. "And now we're willing to give it to you, you won't take it?"

Heath remained silent. Audra's face grew redder. Her brother sighed. "I just … can't be like the man who abandoned my mother the way he did." Heath's face turned to stone. He pulled up his mount. "But I did leave her …" Heath turned his stone face toward Audra. "I left and wasn't there for her until it was almost too late." At the tears in her eyes that he assumed were from pity, Heath clenched his jaw. "But not like he left her, not a word, not a letter, not a visit in my memory, much less any money. He might not have asked anything of her after he left, but he didn't give her anything either, nothing but a little time and me, and he had all this!"

As he expected, tears were now flowing down Audra's cheeks, and he wished he'd just ridden off rather than hurting her feelings like this, again. But something hadn't let him leave Barkley land that day even when he'd had opportunities while riding within it. So, he just listened to Audra's soft voice. "Heath, I … I don't know what happened between my pa and your mother, but I think if he knew all the trouble you both went through … he … he woulda done something!"

Heath looked down to the ground beneath his horse's hooves, but he still heard Audra's plea. "Why don't you come home again, Heath. Please!"

Something stormy broke open inside of his chest. His head snapped up. His voice thundered at her with true bite in it. "What does it matter to you anyway!"

Audra's eyes narrowed and she snapped back, "Because you're my brother!"

Heath opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. He closed it and just stared at her. Finally, he turned his horse around and walked it back toward the house. With a grin of triumph, Audra turned hers around and did the same.

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	28. Chapter 28

**I own nothing. Please enjoy.**

Heath walked in the back, kitchen door, hoping to avoid, of all people, Mrs. Barkley. He stopped frozen. Nope.

There she sat at the table white china cup of … coffee. He could tell by the smell. It sat in an equally white china cup in front of her making her look proper. An equally proper-looking man in a beautiful, back suit with a wide, white smile greeted him at her elbow, where he might have been refilling her cup with the tin pitcher in his hand. "Good evening, Mr. Heath."

Heath raised his chin to the man. "Good evening."

Mrs. Barkley spoke next, "Heath, this is our long-time servant and longer time family friend, Silas."

Heath nodded. "Hello Silas." The man walked up to him, took his hand, and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Heath."

"Nice to meet you too."

"Silas," Mrs. Barkley spoke from behind him, "Do you mind letting Heath and I talk alone for a moment? I know this is really your domain."

"I don't mind a bit, Mrs. Barkley. I can find a way to keep busy elsewhere."

He seemed to take a wide, silver tray with him to do just that, but also seemed to give Heath a white-toothed smirk over his shoulder as he went through the swinging door with it into another part of the house. Heath almost shook his head at the sight. _They're all out to get me._

"Heath." Speaking of which. He looked down to meet the gaze of the silver haired and iron-eyed Mrs. Barkley. "Would you sit across from me so we can talk more comfortably?"

He did sit down across from her and stared back grabbing another white cup in the area. She continued. "Would you mind telling me why you left earlier?"

Heath looked down and swallowed. But he decided if he had shot straight with his half-sister, he had to do the same thing with her mother. "I can't just stay because you want me to be a younger Thomas Barkley hanging around."

As he feared, she flinched. The corners of her mouth turned down and her eyelids lowered. Her gaze also lowered to her cup of coffee. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way, Heath."

Heath looked down at his own cup, which had probably been someone else's. It had a circular stain around the bottom and was still a little warm. Heath sighed. "I know you loved him. I can't. If that's a problem, I don't think I can stay here."

"Why did you stay on our land even when you left the house, Heath?"

He flinched. He hadn't wanted to answer that, but "Because its beautiful land, Mrs. Barkley, and just right for me. I could never find any other place I'd want to live more."

"And could you also learn to love us, Heath?"

He looked up at her. She was gazing back at him. Her brows were furrowed and the corners of her mouth were turned down, but there was no fire in her gaze just a question.

He was shocked at the answer in his own heart even though he didn't voice it. _I already do. _It was strange, but it was true. Audra, fiery, pouty, cunning, innocent, warm Audra, was already little sister to him, always had been, but he felt it now, a desire to protect and see her grow and happy.

Jared, he usually didn't feel comfortable around men who wore fine clothes so often, but he did now with Jared. A tingling of respect was in his soul for the man already. He felt he'd like to have him at his side in a fight with words, and also any one with guns.

Nick, he was constantly irritated with him and the feeling seemed to be mutual. But for all that. he couldn't find a single thing about the middle Barkley brother he hated. He was rightly concerned bad men were out for his land. Heath knew this to be true. Nick's lack of trust in him was well earned by others who'd come before him, Heath was sure, and some who'd arrived shortly thereafter. Any man who fought for his family and land so hard and vigilantly without resorting to underhanded means had his respect.

Even Eugene, Heath admired for his spunk in wanting to hit him for insulting his father and his calm quiet afterwards taking in his tale without the questioning sarcasm of Nick or even the sharp, fact-finding questions of Jared. He was a kid with fire and wisdom qualities that didn't always go together.

And Mrs. Barkley herself … She was all those things and more. Even Silas Heath had a good feeling about. "Yes, I think I could, ma'am."

"Then would you like to stay?"

Heath looked up and was startled to see warm, blue eyes slightly moist and a smile with dimples. So that was where Audra got them. He sat up a little straighter in his seat. Even though he felt he was in way over his head with this family, he'd never been one to back down from a challenge. He nodded his head.

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	29. Chapter 29

**I own nothing, please enjoy anyway. ****:)**

"Would you like some coffee before we talk to Nick about it?"

Heath nodded again. Victoria took the dirty cup from him and got him a clean one, poured the coffee into it, and asked him how he took it.

"Black."

She nodded and then poured herself another cup the same way. Heath raised his eyebrows. She gave a small smirk. "I learned how to get my coffee fast and effectively over the years. You want to stay awake and wait for the sweetness of finishing the task later, when you're working hard and long."

Heath gave a small smile. He felt the same way. He took a sip of his own black drink.

Victoria went on while lowering her voice. "Heath, I don't want you to think Nick is always like this. He can be quite generous. It's just, you came to us during a time when people were trying to take something away from us." She sighed and shrugged. "And he got it into his head since you came at the same time that meant you were one of those people."

She took a small sip of her coffee shoulders and eyes drooping making it look like she needed it before going on. "Unfortunately, that same stubbornness that has helped him, his father, and me get the job done and have that same, sweet satisfaction later, keeps him holding onto the same idea with both hands. Now he thinks you're trying to take something from us in a different way. And giving up the idea his father was perfect isn't easy for him either."

Heath looked over his coffee at her. "And why do you want me here?" He paused, trying not to look accusing, but the question hung on to him as stubbornly as Nick's about him.

Victoria bit her bottom lip and squinted her eyes while staring at the wall. "Well …" She relaxed and shrugged while lifting her cup to her lips again. "I suppose over the years I've always liked a certain type of man. One that reminded me of my father actually."

Heath lifted his eyebrows. That was surprising to him. The one he'd grown up with who'd had the fondest memories of their father was Hannah, and hers had been sold away from her when she was little. He'd always wondered if she'd have such fond memories of him if he hadn't been sold away from her when she was so young.

Victoria went on. She was squinting in thought again, but her voice grew stronger as she seemed to put her thoughts together by sheer force of will. "I've always liked a man who's smart, and strong, and puts those things to good use. A man who doesn't rely on them or his birth status to work for him, but works with everything he's got to see just how far he can go, putting 'everything' he has into it." She turned a bright smile to him. "Even his family."

Heath raised his eyebrows, but Victoria smiled as if experiencing good memories. Her voice grew soft again. "Yes, I don't know how much time I actually would have spent with my own father if he hadn't had me in his office reading books or doing homework, or up on the stagecoach seat with him as I grew up. Mama worked in our business too. We all worked together. And … I guess when Tom told me his plans it sounded like a new adventure … and also like what I'd been doing every day."

She turned saddened eyes to Heath as if seeing what bringing up the man he hated again had done to their quiet conversation. Heath looked down into his coffee not sure what to think. Then, "I'm glad you've always had such a good family, Mrs …"

"You can call me Victoria, if that's easier for you …"

He bunched his eyebrows together. Somehow that didn't sound right to him. "Seems like you deserve more respect than that."

She beamed. Then her brows drew together, and some wrinkles appeared around her mouth as she changed subjects. "Heath … you did love your mother didn't you, and she loved you?"

Heath looked up at her brows drawn tightly together again. "Yeah. Why?"

"I guess," she bit her bottom lip again. "I just want to know you did have a good life in some ways, before you came to us."

Heath's forehead smoothed. "Yeah … I did have that until she passed away. And I still have her … blessing I guess, over my life."

Victoria looked up with a smile and wet eyes. "And I want you to be blessed like the rest of my sons too …" Her eyes widened and face paled. Thus, Heath knew she realized what she'd just implied.

He just smiled at her. "Ma'am, I can't say as I feel the same way about your husband as the rest of your family does, but … I wouldn't have minded in the least being related to you."

"You are," she said, her voice catching slightly. "However, you feel about our link, you 'are' kin of mine."

Heath gazed at her a moment. "Should we go try to convince Nick of that together?"

. . .

"No, no!"

Heath sighed. He'd been sitting backward in a chair. Audra sat in the chair her mother had occupied earlier, all cleaned up and changed into a dress. Heath thought she must have had a bath as soon as they got back. Eugene and Jared sat next to each other on the couch. Nick strode up and down the room while everyone else watched.

Victoria stood next to him hands folded primly in front of her and mouth pursed. Heath appreciated the show of support but was beginning to wonder if fracturing this family was worth it. He'd expected them to be a united front against him not for him to be the wedge that drove them apart.

Nick turned on Jared. "You said it yourself! He has no evidence!"

"That was before 'mother' gave 'her' testimony Nick."

"Awwww …," Nick crossed his arms and gave a sideways glare at his mother, but Heath thought it awful short. Nick then waved toward Heath, staring him down while seeming to address his mother indirectly. "And if 'every' coyote that resembles father shows up here are we just going to 'adopt' them too?"

"Heath is a special circumstance, Nick," she replied without softening her stance or her voice.

Nick began bobbing his head in a nod while walking away and bunching his shoulders up. "Oh, sure, sure, sure, they also have to claim to be born in Strawberry or one of the 'other' hundreds of places father visited in his lifetime!"

Victoria heaved a sigh. Heath glanced out the window at the black sky outside. He decided to drive in his two cents on what might be safe ground. "Shouldn't we be going to our bedr … our beds, so we can sleep on this and get to work tomorrow?"

He'd almost said bedrolls, if he did end up staying, he'd have to get used to that change. At the moment, he was almost convinced Nick was going to toss him out and Victoria was going to drag him back in for all eternity. And what would happen to the ranch then?

Audra spoke in a voice soft as the look of her hair in the lamplight. "Can't we just wait and see how things go for now, Nick?"

He growled under his breath as he turned back having strode as close to Heath as he seemed to like and heading back over to the fireplace. Heath sighed, but Jared got a wide smile from his place. "Well, I for one, think that's a marvelous idea sister." He slapped his thighs and stood up. Eugene looked over at him, but then looked back to Nick as if seeking approval, or at least more information, before making a move. He even rubbed his chin as he watched. Heath was beginning to wonder how long it usually took this kid to make a decision on anything, and how he did so away from his brothers.

Nick froze and sighed. "Yeah … we 'do' have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

He looked over his shoulder at heath and his face went red again. He turned around, crossed his arms, and cocked his head. His eyes bored into him. "And I suppose you'll be doing your share of it then?"

Heath glared back. "You suppose right."

Nick snorted. He glanced around at the rest of his family before looking back to Heath. "We'll see."

He strode out of the room and turned toward the stairs. Victoria followed in his wake, looking down at Heath to say, "Breakfast will be at 7:30 tomorrow, Heath. You're welcome to the coffee and any fruit left out, or really anything Silas will give you, before then."

Jared followed her, Audra actually got up and fell in right behind him as Eugene hesitated glancing at Heath before getting up and actually slapping Heath on the shoulder on his way out. Heath blinked at the surprising contact, but his mind continued on the track Nick had placed it on. _Oh, you'll see older brother, you'll see._

. . .

He came in the next day to eat breakfast with his sweat making his clothes cling to him. Nick was hollering about something again. _Is he "ever" quiet about anything? _Heath was beginning to doubt it.

For a moment, he pondered cleaning up a little more before joining the other Barkleys. Maybe he should slap on something sweet smelling that might be setting somewhere in his room before heading to the table. But he "was" hungry and he kinda wanted to rub Nick's face in the evidence of his labor a little bit. He made the point even more clear by mentioning the fence, mesquite, and bridge he'd been to that morning as he entered the dining room. He might have felt guilty about interrupting Nick except he thought he might be saving everybody else's ears just then. They'd had quite a battering from Nick for a while now. Heath thought if he felt he needed a break, so might they.

Nick rounded on him with a lower, but still threatening tone. "Where the devil have you been?"

Heath turned a glare on him, hadn't he just said? "You can start with the bridge or the Mesquite. Take your choice."

He sat down. The steak looked especially good to him. Someone else seemed to have the same idea. His fork went in at the same time another did. Heath looked up to meet Nick's gaze again. He got his hard stare from his mother. Figured they'd be seated across from each other. How had that worked?

_Guess we both tried to sit near the steak. _It was as good an explanation as any. Heath heard Audra chuckle. Jared glanced between him and Nick. Heath wondered what the lawyer would say to them both, but the man seemed to find a solution without words this time. He took up a knife and divided up the steak in a way a baby could not be, but it still felt like an act of Solomon there and then.

Nick pulled his half away just as Heath did the same with his. Heath felt himself smile. Then, the hollerin man's face broke into a grin too and he laughed. It was … strangely infectious and Heath heard himself laughing with him and as he pulled his portion of the steak onto his plate.

They both got a smile from Jared. Then Mrs. Barkley began to pray. It more than anything made Heath feel at home. Even if she dressed different and this was a far different spread over which, and place in which, his mama had ever prayed before the words felt … familiar.

_I guess you're praying in an even better-looking place now mama. Hope it's even better than everyone's always said for you. I might not be in Heaven with you right away, but I hope this place looks half as good to you up there as it does to me down here now._

At the end of the prayer, Heath realized with a slight tightening in his throat that would make it hard to eat his steak, he felt he was finally, really home.

**Thank you for reading. ****:)**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


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